


Blood Wings

by frk_werewolf (wolfelements)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Crime Scenes, FBI Xander, Gen, Hannibal Lecter Inspired, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Red Dragon Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfelements/pseuds/frk_werewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. When FBI Agent Alexander Harris is put on the case of the latest serial killer, known to the law as Angelus, he finds himself turning to an old enemy for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after reading Red Dragon for the second time. Woo, fun times!
> 
> The spander is light, practically one-sided, and pretty much hinted it at like us slashers see in the show.

The file sat on the oak desk, surrounded by yellow sticky notes and pieces of paper with quick sentences written in a hasty hand. Agent Alexander Harris, known to his coworkers as Xander, sat on one side of the desk, hands resting lightly on the edge of the desk. The edge of a picture peaked out from the file, allowing a blood-coated hand to be seen.

"Sir?" Xander looked up as the department's newest intern entered the room. She was short, with dark brunette hair and sharp eyes. Most of the other agents didn't think Faith would last under the pressure. Xander was willing to bet them wrong. 

"Yes?"

"Dr. Ethan Rayne is on the phone." Faith replied. "He's overviewed the file and is ready to offer his opinion. Line three."

Xander waited until Faith had left the room before letting out a sigh. Reaching for the phone, he cradled it against his shoulder and chin before flipping open the file. Bright pictures of a body greeted him. "This is Agent Harris."

"Ah, Harris, I was happy to find you in." Ethan's voice was calm and hinted with a British accent. Xander thought he was an arrogant prick, but had never developed the nerve to say it to his face. "I was hoping we could take a moment to go over the file on your latest hunt. I must say I was surprised they put you on this case so soon after Agent Summers' removal. Tell me, Harris, is she well?"

"Last I heard she had stopped vomiting in the morning." Xander said. "Dr. Rayne, I'm sure you didn't call me up to chat about Summers' pregnancy. Shall we get started?"

"Hmm, yes." Ethan sighed and in the background Xander could hear pages turn. "Our boy is a sociopath, though I'm sure you knew that. The tabloids are calling him a vampire, did you know? Of course, they only know of the dual puncture wounds to the neck and not of--"

"I'm perfectly aware of what the papers know and don't know." Xander interrupted. He had spent the better part of the hour looking at the pictures that he now had spread out on his desk. Buffy Summers had been precise in her research, leaving Xander the privilege of simply diving in and trying to find a new angle. He didn't have time for Ethan's small talk. Four people were dead, not including two cats and a dog that had been owned by the newly deceased.

"Very well, on to the hard core bits, eh?" Ethan chuckled. "He's a sociopath, as I've stated. He obviously feels no guilt in what he does, leaving the likelihood that he will not stop. He's got a taste for the blood, after all. The use of angelic symbols and the neck wounds signify a deeply rooted hatred or feeling of abandonment from God. It's possible he went to church in his early days."

Xander grabbed a piece of paper and began writing down notes: church connection?

"He's very careful, isn't he?" Ethan murmured. Xander glanced at the postmortem pictures and couldn't help but agree. "He knows anatomy, that is certain. He probably went to college, don't you think? Ah, yes, our boy knows exactly what he's doing."

"What we need to know is what he looks for in a victim, Dr. Rayne." Xander informed him.

"That's the question, isn't it? I'm afraid that's all I can offer, Agent Harris. I'm merely a psychiatrist, after all." Ethan said. "You will send me any of your latest information, correct?"

"Yes, of course." Xander lied. Buffy had trusted Ethan mostly because their supervisor, Rupert Giles, trusted him. Xander wasn't that gullible, however. Ethan had given everything he knew. Some psychiatrist looking at files one hundred miles away wouldn’t catch this serial killer.

"By the way, I was curious about something." Ethan said, before Xander could hang up. "How are you sleeping at night?"

"I don't think that's any of your business." Xander stiffened. "Goodbye, Dr. Rayne."

Setting the phone back on its cradle, Xander took a moment to rub at his temples. Then, he began placing the file back together, each picture and piece of paper going in exact order. Grabbing a case for the file, he slid it inside and stood. Faith watched him leave the office. He was almost out the door when a thought struck him. "Faith?"

"Yes, sir?" Faith asked.

"Call Daniel Osbourne for me and have him get over to the Hurley's house. Tell him I'll meet him there." Xander ordered, before walking away without a reply.

The Hurley's had been the second family killed in two months. As Xander jumped into his car and drove toward the small three-bedroom home, the case file zipped through his mind like a cat on speed. Mr. Hurley had been divorced for five years and his daughter had just turned twelve. They had two cats. The cats had been found with their heads cut off on the back porch. The neighbors hadn't heard a thing.

The first family was a single mom, Ms. Colby, and her nine-year-old son. Their dog had been found poisoned in the alley behind the house.

The murders were exactly fifty miles apart, both families living in small towns east and west of Los Angeles. Aside from both murders including a child and a parent there were also the visible clues. Which was why Xander needed Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne, a forensic photographer who was better at being a genius than a film developer.

"Hey." Oz greeted, resting against the side of his white van. Xander got out of his car, slamming the door behind him. 

"Oz, my man, I need your help." Xander said, pulling the house key out of his pocket. "I need you to take a set of pictures of the upstairs master bedroom and hallway."

"Didn't your men do this already?" Oz asked, opening his van in order to pull out his equipment.

"I'd rather you go over it, personally." Xander admitted. 

The house was musty inside, despite having been accessed repeatedly by both the local police and the FBI. Downstairs, everything was clean. Not a drop of blood, a footprint, or even a hair had been left behind. Upstairs, on the other hand, was a different story. The girl's bedroom showed sign of a struggle. Bed sheets had been kicked off the bed, a lamp knocked to the floor. A handful of long, blonde hair had been found near the door. Mostly likely from when the killer had yanked the girl out of bed.

As the camera's flash filled the room repeatedly, Xander searched for any clues that might have been overlooked. He retraced the supposed steps of the killer, walking into the girl's room and inspecting the dresser. Pictures of friends were tacked onto the vanity mirror and a jumble of bracelets and make-up covered the surface. A small jewelry box sat in the middle. Inside, Xander found a few rings and a cross necklace.

The closet held modest looking clothes. It was obvious Mr. Hurley didn't let his daughter dress inappropriately. The girl didn't have a diary or any personal notebooks of any kind. This was the type of daughter that didn't feel the need to keep secrets from her father.

Xander followed the path from the girl's bed, down the hallway where a few pictures had been knocked off the wall, and into the master bedroom. For a moment, red filled Xander's vision. Closing his eyes, Xander took in a deep breath. The copper-like scent of dried blood hit his nose. Then, slowly, he reopened his eyes. Xander forced himself to remember what had happened next, mind shifting back to the case file that sat in his car outside.

The daughter had been dragged into the master bedroom, where she was tied up and thrown into a corner. Bruises had been found along her wrists and ankles. The killer had then turned to the father, who had still been asleep. Medical records showed Mr. Hurley had been placed on a heavy sedative to help with his nerves barely two weeks before his death. While Ms. Colby had woken to the sound of her son screaming, Mr. Hurley did not wake until the murderer had stabbed him in the hip.

Why the hip? Was it significant? Xander frowned and looked toward the bed. A large circle of blood shown where the hip wound had bled.

"Huh. Weird." Oz stated, taking pictures of the symbol on the wall. Xander kept himself from looking. He wasn't to that point yet.

Mr. Hurley had been dragged into an upright position, where he had not struggled or moved. Xander suspected he had been warned. A familiar tune with psychos. Move or say anything and your daughter gets it. The killer had then turned back to the daughter, possibly said something or maybe touched her cheek in a fake caress.

Then, what? Xander crossed his arms, brow furrowed in thought. The knife wound had occurred at about eleven at night, but the time of death was sometime around two or three in the morning for both parties. What had the bastard done to entertain himself? The slaughter and gore was obvious, but that had only taken about an hour.

Xander walked toward Mr. Hurley's closet, searching for something, anything. Opening it, he stared at the business suits and jeans. The top shelf had a stack of board games and, right next to them, high school yearbooks. Xander pulled a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket and slipped them on. He could hear Oz move around behind him, taking images of the dresser, bed, ceiling, everything. 

Xander pulled down the yearbook from Mr. Hurley's freshman year.

"I'm not finding anything, Xander." Oz informed him. "Everything's so out in the open. There isn't anything here that the office didn't catch the first time around."

"Get the bathroom and closet." Xander ordered. Oz let out a slight sigh, but moved into the master bedroom's bathroom and began taken pictures.

Images of the seventies burst from the yearbook's pages. A group of men dressed up as Kiss for Halloween. Cheerleaders and football players getting ready for a pep rally. Some pictures had little circles around them. One junior had small pink hearts around her picture. Xander turned to the freshman section, flipping pages until he reached the H's.

Xander stared at the page. A hole. Someone had cut out Mr. Hurley's image. No, not someone. The killer. The sociopath that other members of the FBI, as well as local police, had taken up calling Angelus. Xander slowly closed the book and put it back in place. He would wait until Oz had the closet photographed before packing the yearbooks away and taking them to the lab for tests.

Having figured out what 'Angelus' (Xander shuddered, hating the thought of giving the man a title, but his mind fought the desire for anonymity and labeled the killer as such nonetheless.) had been doing, Xander turned back to the corner of the room.

Angelus had attacked the girl, first. It was certain he had gagged the father. Signs of bruising indicated as such on the autopsy. Xander took a step toward the corner of the room, where splatters of blood outlined the girl's figure, where she had been bound and left. Behind him, Oz moved toward the closet.

She had been stripped to only her panties. Xander didn't want to picture it, but the agent in him demanded the image of the twelve-year-old girl, coated in sweat due to her fear, to srping to mind. Angelus hadn't spent much time on her. It was the same with the Colby boy. Both had a cross etched into their cheek with a sharp piece of metal. Not a knife, the wounds had been too jagged to be a knife.

The Colby boy had been stabbed repeated, but had died of suffocation instead of blood loss. The Hurley girl had had more time spent on her. Careful slices, not deep enough to bleed a much as the boy had, and in the end she had suffocated as well. Both had a set of punture wounds, most likely from a sharpened screwdriver, placed on the neck like a vampire. Both victims had been cleaned after their death. The blood on their body was minimal. On the boy, the floor had been soaked with blood, but the girl had been found on a carpet that only had a few drops. 

Behind both were streaks of blood. Xander lowered himself into a crouch and looked at these streaks now. They looked as though they had been done intentionally. Xander made a mental note to check the file for any fingerprinting done on this wall. 

But, why? Why had Angelus been so careful with the children's bodies? Why did he feel the urge to paint the wall with their blood? Xander couldn't figure it out. Standing, Xander turned to the carefully painted angel wings above the bed. The crusted blood had already begun to flake, but the image was still clear.

"Done." Oz announced. Xander jumped in shock. "Anything?"

"Nothing." Xander admitted. "He cut out Mr. Hurley's image from the yearbook. I'll get that packed up in a minute. Other than that, I can't figure this freak out."

"He's good." Oz said in his calm tone. The sound soothed Xander, as it usually did. Oz had the impression of a placid lake in the midst of a hurricane. "That's some detailed work right there. I'll have the close ups analyzed. Do you want to have an open connection with the other departments, or should I talk to you only?"

"Send all of the copies to both, but talk only to me. I'll relay whatever is important." Xander said.

"Right." Oz held his camera close, looking over Xander's shoulder at the bloodstained bed. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No, I'm fine." Xander said, taking in a deep breath.

"You shouldn't be out here. Not so soon." Oz informed him. Xander wanted to tell him to shut up, but Oz was a friend and not someone easily ordered around. Oz would merely keep talking. "I don't know how you do it. I'm nervous simply standing here, taking pictures, knowing I did the exact same thing for your last catch."

"It wasn't a big deal, Oz. Everyone is blowing it out of proportion." Xander told him. "Besides, I don't think he would have killed me."

"No, you're right. He would have done worse." Oz replied, softly. "After you get this madman taken care of, you should go on vacation."

"Hmm, probably." Xander agreed.

"Or just quit. If William the Bloody reacted to me the way he did you, I would have quit a long time ago. You've got to be insane to stay in a job like this."

"You know what they say." Xander shrugged, eyes still trained on the blood painted wings. "Only a crazy man can recognize a fellow psycho."

"Then have them release William and let him catch this freak, not you."


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't like it." Agent Rupert Giles informed him from the other side of the desk. Xander sat in the hard wood chair, knowing Giles bought the contraptions just to keep his workers nervous when they came to visit him. Giles -- Xander had never grown comfortable calling him by his first name -- pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them. "Why don't you have that new girl go?"

"Sir, Faith is not ready for that sort of... Assignment." Xander said, carefully.

"She seems like a capable young woman." Giles commented.

"Yes, and she is, but... You know William Bradshaw will not talk with just anyone." Xander said.

"I don't see the point in you going to begin with, to be honest." Giles replied. He leaned forward, setting his glasses down on the desk next to the phone. "You're a good agent, Xander, but if you feel this case is too much, too soon--"

"I'm not broken, sir." Xander interrupted. "And, I'll admit, I'm getting a little tired of everyone assuming so. I know I can get this guy, but I need a little insight. Not the kind a psychiatrist can give me, but the kind a fellow sociopath can. I know he'll help."

"How can you be so certain?" Giles asked. 

"I can't, but it's worth a try." Xander admitted. "No one knows how to get inside a killer's mind than a fellow killer. If I can convince William to look at the murder scenes and autopsy reports, we may discover an actual motive."

"Most serial killers don't have motives, Xander, you know this."

"Forgive me, but I think they do. In their own way, at least. The symbols, the repetition of style, and the way the victim is selected indicates a motive. This Angelus creature isn't doing it because he's bored, he's doing it because he wants to." Xander leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his forehead. "I just can't figure out why."

"Very well." Giles reached for his phone. "I'll get you permission. I'll also check on those yearbooks while you are gone. Expect the results on your desk when you return."

The Los Angeles Center for the Criminally Insane was recently built, once it became less practical to send the west coast's sociopath to Boston's facility. Xander had never been inside it and, up until today, he had assumed he never would. It was a large building, with steel doors and a near hospital-like feel. The newest approach to keeping your prisoners uncomfortable, Xander supposed.

Dr. Willow Rosenberg greeted him at the door, immediately shuffling him toward her office. She was a short woman with bright red hair and a sunny disposition. She made Xander comfortable, remembering a time when he was always the first to crack a joke or smile. Willow sat down across from him, a bright smile on her face. "So, you're the man that caught William the Bloody. It's a pleasure to finally meet the man that brought him into this prison and my files."

"Yeah, it was fun." Xander stated sarcastically. Willow raised an eyebrow. "...How is he?"

"Tormenting the staff." Willow informed him, her lips curving into a mild smile. "He's demanded second breakfast and tea in bed thus far. He's rather... Intellectual. We've given him permission to access books within our library. He's rather fond of Robert Frost."

"He is a poet fan." Xander agreed. Yes, William Bradshaw was definitely a lover of poetry. His apartment, when ransacked by the police, had at least five bookshelves lining the wall. They had been overfilled with books. "Did you need anything else, or can I get started?"

"I just need to go over a few rules. Don't accept anything from him. Don't touch the glass wall that separated him from the rest of the world. Most importantly, don't answer any personal questions. He's very charismatic, as I'm sure you know." Willow watched Xander's jaw tense. She stood and handed him a small badge. "I'll walk you to the guard station, shall I?"

Soon, Xander found himself walking down a long hallway. He passed several cell. People thumped on the glass walls, one man yelled obscenities at him. As he drew closer to his destination he saw a small chair had been placed for his convenience. Xander stalled, unable to take the necessary steps to bring the inside of William the Bloody's cell into view.

"Hello, sweetness. Can I have a piece?" Someone asked in another cell. Xander didn't look over. Tightening his hold on his briefcase, Xander stepped forward.

The cell was bright white, a color that didn't fit the madness of its occupant's minds. A few paperback books sat on a bolted down desk. Bits of paper and a felt tip pen resided next to them. At the back of the room was the small twin bed, sheets white and blanket gray. It was bolted down as well. Along the wall was pictures, photographs of places Xander had never been and wondered how they had come to be there.

Propped up, knee bent and the other stretched out, William 'The Bloody' Bradshaw rested his back against the wall. His eyes were closed, though Xander knew he wasn't asleep. The man was an enigma that was certain. He was also beautiful. The hot-blooded gay male in Xander couldn't deny that. Soft skin, bleach white hair that used to be slicked back, but was now falling down into his eyes. The roots were darker, but still blonde. His body was compact, he was but a few inches shorter than Xander, and his stomach had well defined muscles. The light gray prison outfit did nothing to flatter the man, giving him a washed out impression.

Xander still thought he was beautiful, despite the small fault such as too pale skin and a homicidal mentality.

"I was wondering when I'd see you." Clear blue eyes peeked open as a soft voice spoke in a cockney accent.

"Listen, why don't we cut to the chase, William--" Xander started.

"Spike." He interrupted. "William is so blah, don't you think? I'd rather go by Spike."

"Any particular reason you want to change your name?" Xander couldn't help but ask. 

"Skin of the chameleon, love. Nonetheless, I won't answer to anything but it."

"Fine. Spike it is." Xander fought to not role his eyes. Bloody murders aside, 'Spike' was the type of man Xander could never deal with. He was arrogant and full of himself, leaving Xander to feel inadequate.

"Now then, love." Spike swung his legs over and off his cot, head cocked to the side as he watched Xander sit down on the small chair provided for him. "What can I do for you?"

"There's a new serial killer in town." Xander informed him. He watched, as Spike stood, moving with liquid grace. "We can't get a hold on him, though."

"We... Or I?" Spike countered, moving toward the glass wall. A single hand reached out and began tracing shapes along the glass. Xander noticed that his fingers, though that of a killer, were slender and delicate, like a writer's. Spike smirked. "Cat got your brain and you're all out of ideas."

"I wont deny it." Xander shrugged. Spike began to smile, his teeth practically bared like a jungle cats. "You understand the mind of a psychotic better than anyone else, what with you being one--"

"Your words, pet, they wound me." Spike interrupted, before dropping down into a crouch. He stared at Xander, causing a shiver to go up the agent's spine. "I could help you, for a price. Can't get nothing for free, you know that."

"I suspected as much." Xander admitted. "What do you want?"

"That would depend on what you were willing to give." Spike let out a soft sigh, his eyes traveling across Xander's form. Xander shifted in his seat and frowned. "I could ask for so many things, you know. Mmm, in fact, what I wouldn't give for one night with you."

"Why? So you could kill me?" Xander realized that his best defense in these types of situations was talking. Most would remain quiet and let Spike talk himself into a stupor. Not Xander, though Xander had a feeling that was why Spike was so intrigued with him. "Even I'm not that stupid, Will... Err, Spike."

Xander wouldn't get used to calling him Spike, he had been William in his head for too long. Though, maybe, a name change would be good. His link to William was thick and constant, digging into his dreams and affecting his work. To have this man before him be Spike would mean he wasn't the murderer that Xander had captured less than a year ago.

"I would never kill you, love." Spike informed Xander, dragging him out of his thoughts. Spike stood, one hand still pressed against the glass. Nails scratched across the surface. "I want to help you."

"Do you? Or maybe this is all a game." Xander stood, picking up his briefcase with a trembling hand. Spike licked his lips and Xander wanted nothing more than to be home, curled up in bed and with the knowledge that he was alone. But even home wasn't safe anymore.

"You can't escape me, Harris!" Spike suddenly snapped, one hand slapping at the glass. Blue eyes, filled with something that Xander couldn't identify, stared. "I'm stuck in your head now. You've got me in every inch and crevice of your soul. I won you."

"I think the artificial light is getting to you." Xander managed to say. Spike wasn't right, or so Xander tried to convince himself.

"Why did you really come here?" Spike asked, his voice a mere hiss. "Was it to get help, or to see me? Give me a copy of the case file, pet, and I'll do your detective work."

"And in return?"

"I want a picture." Spike said, lips curved upward. "A nice big one of you.... Shirtless."

"I will not be one your fantasies, Spike." Xander replied, eyes darting over to the wall with the photographs. He couldn't picture an image of himself up there and he didn't want to.

"You already are, love." Spike smirked. "Give me the file."

Xander's hand tightened around the handle of his briefcase. Should he allow Spike one more entry into his life? He already had to move into a different apartment and buy a new bed because of him. Xander frowned, determined to not think about what Spike did to him, or wanted to do. 

Setting his briefcase onto the chair, he slowly undid the clasps. The file wasn't very thick. Xander had only photocopied the important data: pictures of the murder scenes and bodies, as well as the police report. He placed it into the tray that was used for giving food to Spike and pushed it through the wall. Spike watched him, head stuck at a tilt.

"There. I'll... I'll bring your picture when I come next." Xander said.

Spike pulled the file out and flipped it open, a look of pure glee appearing on his face when he saw the full color photos. "What a lovely devil this man must be. You bring me that photo, love, and we'll have him in the cell next to mine shortly."

"So you can play with him, I'm sure." Xander muttered.

"I only play with you, Xander Harris." Spike turned serious eyes toward him. "You know that."

Xander left as quickly as he could, unable to deal with being close to Spike any longer. Once outside, he climbed into his car and took a moment to simply breathe. He had to question his own sanity. He knew coming here had been a bad idea. Spike had a wonderful habit of playing with his victim’s heads. He was sensual, to every core of his being. Even Xander was affected by it.

Spike also had a short attention span. He grew tired of his play quickly, usually resulting in the victim's deaths. Xander could remember every crime scene he had step foot on while on the William the Bloody case. Bloody was a correct title for the man. Yet, Xander couldn't help but notice that Spike's interest in him, the one who placed him in that prison, was not wavering. It was very different from Spike's usual style. It was also really creepy.

Xander drove back to the office slowly. He knew the test results on the yearbooks would be done and placed on his desk within the hour. He needed to get the keys to the Colby storage. The Colby house had already been packed up and was placed on the market two weeks ago. Going to the house wouldn't help anything, now. Still, he needed to see if Ms. Colby had kept any of her high school yearbooks. It could be that this was yet another trend for Angelus.

"Sir?" Faith stood, catching Xander by the arm before he could step into his office. 

"Yes? What is it?" Xander asked.

"Mr. Osbourne called." Faith informed him. "He's coming over immediately. It seems he found something while inspecting the pictures he took."

"Good, thank you." Xander opened his office door and entered, Faith behind him. "Did the crime lab send anything over?"

"Yes, the report is there on your desk." Faith said. She wasn't looking at him. Instead she was staring at the various news clippings pinned up to the wall. Some were on Spike's capture; the others were on press releases about Angelus. Xander didn't say anything and focuses instead on the files next to his phone.

"You went to see him today, right?" Faith suddenly asked, causing Xander to look up. 

"Yes."

"Why?" Faith frowned. "I mean..."

"Sometimes when you've stared at a file over and over again you start to ignore the little things." Xander informed her. "It's good to have a new perspective on it."

"No offence, sir, but if that's all you needed than one of the other agents, or I, could have looked at it." Faith said, her lips curving into a slight smile. Xander had found that Faith was very sarcastic in nature and that most of the office considered her rude. Xander, however, enjoyed her teasing. It made things interesting.

"I just might take you up on that offer, Faith." Xander smiled.

"Do you think he'll find anything?"

"Bradshaw is... A different breed of human. He'll find something, but whether he'll tell me is another story all together." Xander admitted.

"From what I hear amongst the gossip the likelihood of him not giving you anything is slim to none." Faith smirked. Xander scowled. "Though, that sort of opinion is typically generated when a person is found tied to their bed by the very man he's suppose to be hunting."

Xander refused to acknowledge this comment and instead shifted through the crime lab's report. "Damn."

"No fingerprints?" Faith asked, hovering next to the door. "Well, maybe your little photography friend might have something."

"Let's hope so." Xander sighed and rubbed at his temple. "Otherwise, we're back to ground zero."


	3. Chapter 3

Daniel Osbourne looked as though he hadn't slept in two days. Considering he was already finished with his analysis of the pictures, which had been taken the previous afternoon, that was fully possible. He immediately pulled a series of blown up images out of his portfolio, propping them up along the wall. Then, he took a step back and allowed Xander the room to inspect them.

"Damn." Faith muttered from where she stood next to Oz. She scrunched up her nose and stepped closer to the image that showed the angel wings in their entirety. 

Each picture was mostly dark red in color, displaying textures that overrode Xander's brain. He didn't understand their significance, but he knew Oz did. Xander was thankful to have Oz at his side. The man was a genius and if Xander was honest he would admit that he never would have captured Spike if it weren’t for Oz. 

"He used a paint brush." Oz stated calmly.

"A paint brush? That's... Well, that's fucked up." Faith commented, before leaving the room and back to her desk. The door clicked shut behind her.

"Indeed it is." Oz smiled slightly. Then, noting the frown of concentration on Xander's face, stepped toward the first image. "Do you see this here? The blood is swept across the wall in an outward fashion. You can see the trail that the hair of the brush took. If he had used his hands, the blood wouldn't have developed this sort of fringed edged. Also, the blood is thin. He spread it out and didn't use much. Well, he did, but if he had used and other method aside from a brush it would have been thicker."

"Like finger-painting." Xander nodded.

"Exactly. Finger-painting causes spaces that are thick with paint." Oz agreed. Oz moved to the next picture. "He used two different kinds. Most of the feathers are painted with a round brush with hard bristles. You can find these are any arts and crafts store. But in certain places you can see very thin lines of blood."

Oz traced one of these lines with his finger. The line was thinner in blood than the rest, creating what could be considered the veins of each feather. It was hardly noticeable in the full picture, but Oz had zoomed in on one of the feathers, enabling Xander to see it easily.

"He used something to thin the blood, maybe paint thinner or something else. I'm not an expert on that." Oz stated. "The time of death was around two in the morning, correct?"

"Yes, between two and three." Xander replied.

"He must have began his artwork after they were dead, then. There is too much detail to have enough time between cutting those pictures out of the yearbook and finishing them off." Oz bit his lip in thought. "He used a specialty brush for these lines. It's not your typical liner brush. It's too precise for that. There's also no hair found anywhere on the painting. He used a quality brush, that’s for certain. These weren't found at Hobby Lobby."

"Can you type them?" Xander asked.

"No, better let your guys do that." Oz said.

"Alright, I'll get Faith to send these over." Xander sighed. "So, our guy's an artist."

"Most likely. These brush strokes are too good for him not to have some lessons on the subject." Oz began packing them away. "You said Dr. Rayne claimed he knew anatomy?"

"Something along those lines."

"Well, a lot of art students take Anatomy and Physiology in order to get their human figures right." Oz told him.

"I don't know what's more disturbing, a bunch of a beret wearing artists taking biology classes or that our man's intelligent." Xander sighed. "I really appreciate this, Oz."

"What else would I do with my time?" Oz shrugged. "Did the yearbooks have any prints?"

"No." Xander shook his head. "No go on that, just another psychological problem to add to a long list of inquiries."

"I heard you paid William a visit." Oz stated, picking idly at his fingernails. The tips of his fingers showed wear from years of playing the guitar. Xander wondered if he still kept it in the back of his van, even though he wasn't a member of a band anymore.

"He prefers to be called Spike now." Xander told him, trying to give Oz as little information as possible.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Oz gave a half-smile. "How did it go? Are you okay?"

"I'm not invalid, if that's what you mean." Xander muttered. He walked around his desk and sat down, watching as Oz zipped closed the portfolio. "He just... Does something to me, and I don't mean in the nightmare way. I always feel weird when I think about him or see an image of him."

"In other words you have a crush, only the circumstances require you to ignore it and fear him." Oz commented.

"It's not a crush." Xander literally growled. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "He just gets to me, okay? And... I need to ask for a favor." Oz opened his mouth, but was cut off by Xander. "Don't laugh. Promise me?"

"When have I ever laughed at you?" Oz asked.

"When we were in college and I asked that Jesse guy out on a date only to be turned down in the middle of the food quart." Xander replied.

"In my defense, everyone else was laughing, too. I'm a sheep." Oz defended. "What do you need?"

"I need a picture taken." Xander mumbled, looking away. He could feel Oz's gaze and was determined to not meet it. "I need you to promise me you won't tell anyone, especially Giles. If he knew I was having a picture taken of myself as bait for Will--err--Spike then he'd immediately cease all contact."

"Which you don't want to happen." Oz's voice was speculative.

"Not when Spike's agreed to help." Xander sighed. "It was his terms, not mine. He wants a picture of me... Shirtless."

"Shit, Xander." Oz shook his head and walked toward the desk. Xander looked up, watching as a serious of emotions flittered across Oz's face. They were quickly shut down. Oz never was the type to show real emotion. "Are you sure you should be feeding this guy's obsession? That doesn't seem very wise."

"It doesn't matter, Oz. Once he gives me what he's got, I'll be through with him." Xander insisted, pulling out the Colby file. "It'll be over and done with."

"Fine. Come over when you get off work. I don't think it's a good idea, but you've never listened to advice and I doubt you'd start now." Oz said.

"Thank you." Xander said, his voice sincere. Oz let out slight noise of annoyance, before giving Xander a tired smile as a goodbye. Xander watched him leave, before picking up his phone in order to call about visiting the Colby's storage.

 

The glossy coating that covered the photographs felt smooth in Spike's hands. Humming softly to himself, Spike dangled one picture in front of him. The large knife wound in Mr. Hurley's hip stood out in contrast to the grayish skin. Spike smiled, imagining the dried blood along the cut as liquid, dripping down Mr. Hurley's thigh and soaking the sheet below him.

"I bet you cried, Daddy." Spike whispered to the photographed corpse. "Watching the big bad man cut up your little girl. Did she cry? Or did she moan in pleasure?"

Spike tossed the picture onto his desk and glanced outside his cell. The small red light from the security camera stared back. Spike shrugged at it. "Hmm, maybe not? No, no, you're right. Silly of me to say such words about the little bitch."

Down the hall he could hear the orderlies handing out dinner. He wondered if it was beef tonight. He was craving chicken. Ah, well. He'd just have to send it back and demand something more to his liking. It was a pity that he couldn't put in an order for Harris as a meal. 

"Alexander Harris." Spike said aloud. Spike smiled again, but unlike the last it looked more sensual than crazed. "Would you moan, whelp, if I cut into you?" 

Spike chuckled and reached out to gently close the file on his desk. "Oh, but I already know the answer to that, don't I? No, you didn't moan. You quivered with fear. Quickly stopped those games, didn't I? Didn't want you to be scared... Never scared, not of me."

Spike allowed his eyes to slide across the wall and toward the glass. The white uniformed men were picking up a tray from their cart.

"You know the deal, Bradshaw." The man's voice said through the intercom. "Corner of the room, hands on the wall."

"I see manners are nonexistent these days. Does anyone say please anymore?" Spike asked, before following the order. As they inserted the meal into his room, Spike turned his head to the side and watched out of the corner of his eye. "By the way, gentlemen, I would like use of the phone. I feel it's about time to consult with my lawyer, don't you think?"

"Annoying bastard." One of the men muttered. Spike smirked.

They brought the phone once Spike was finished eating. It hadn't been beef, thankfully. Spike calmly took the cordless phone and, ignoring the steady eyes watching him, dialed a number that he knew by heart.

"Agent Harris' office." A deep, sexy female voice answered. Spike bared his teeth, not liking the thought of any woman being close to Xander.

"Ah, yes, I was hoping I could speak with Harris." Spike replied, keeping his tone polite.

"And what would this be concerning?" The woman asked. Spike fought down the urge to curse at her and continued to be polite.

"Simply tell him that Spike is on the phone and allow him to decide whether it is of importance or not." Spike said. There was a pause on the other line, thick with sudden tension. Spike managed to not lick the receiver in an attempt to taste the woman's nervousness.

"Yes, sir." She finally said. There was a click as Spike was put on hold. Spike smiled to himself as he waited, one hand reaching out to trail along the binding of one of his books. On the other side of the glass, his watchers grew impatient.

"This is Harris." 

Spike closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping him. Such a sweet voice, nearly as tasty as the man himself. Though, he sounded tired. Spike wondered what time it was and realized his pet should have been home and in bed already.

"Good evening, love." Spike greeted. 

"Spike... How...?" Xander cut himself off with a huff. "Never mind, I'll be sure to tell Dr. Rosenburg that you aren't using your phone calls appropriately. What do you want?"

"Haven't seen you since this morning, pet." Spike sighed. "I miss you."

"Fascinating." Spike could hear Xander gulp. "Now, what do you really want?"

"Want? Oh, lots of things." Spike lowered his voice, allowing a hint of lust to enter it. "I want to know where you live. I want to know what you're wearing. I want to be out of this bloody hellhole and in your bed. I want to taste the small of your back. Can I, Xan? Can I lick you clean?"

There was an audible squeak on the other line. 

"Spike, this is... You need to hang up now." Xander finally stated. Spike could picture Xander rolling his eyes, getting that god awful and utterly adorable look of frustration along his jaw line. "This is ridiculous."

"Mmm, gonna fuck you, pet." Spike groaned out, breaking into a wide grin when Xander sputtered. Spike fell onto his bed, allowing one leg to dangle off and swing gently. Outside his cell, the orderly was yawning and glancing at his watch.

"You're sick." Xander hissed into Spike's ear. Spike didn't take any offence. He knew that if Xander wanted to, he would have hung up already.

"Love you, too." Spike whispered. "You know you miss my touch. Don't you remember our night together? You tied to that bed and shaking off the last bits of sleep, while I tested the thickness of your skin with my knife. You look good in leather binding, did you know?"

"...I still have the scar." Xander's voice was nearly a mutter. Spike shivered at the thought that he had managed to mark Xander before the local police had him pinned to the ground and arrested him. At least he had gotten a taste.

"Alright, Bradshaw, time's up." The orderly announced, scowling.

"Got to go, love." Spike made a kissing sounding before hanging up. With a smug grin, he sent the phone back to the orderly. Then, humming a happy tune, Spike decided it was time to get ready for bed.

A few miles away, in the Los Angeles chapter of the FBI, Xander Harris sat in the corner of his office and tried to remember how to breathe.


	4. Chapter 4

Xander managed to loosen his grip on the long roll of paper in his hands. He carefully sat down on the small chair provided for him, eyes avoided the glass wall in from of him. Out of the corner of is eye he could see Spike leaning against the wall, looking calm and composed. 

"What do you have for me?" Xander asked, glancing over. Spike licked his lips and leered in response. Scowling, Xander moved toward his briefcase. "I suppose I'll just take this home and burn it, then--"

"No need for that, love." Spike interrupted, suddenly eyeing the concealed photograph with hungry eyes. "You give it to me and I'll tell you anything you want. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

"Something like that." Xander watched him a moment, feeling uncertain, before moving toward the drawer that would allow him to pass the photograph on through. "I hope twenty by twenty-four is an okay size."

"Perfect." Spike immediately snatched it up and unrolled it. Xander looked away. He didn't want the joy of watching Spike stare at the photograph. It had been hard enough taking the picture, shirt off and inside Oz's living room, while Oz made noises of disapproval. If it got him what he wanted, however, Xander was willing to give up a little bit of pride. 

Spike moaned softly. Xander rolled his eyes and glared at the serial killer.

"What can you tell me?" Xander demanded, ignoring the way Spike gently placed the photo onto his bolted down desk. Spike picked up the file on Angelus and sent it through the wall to Xander. "You don't want to keep it?"

"Contrary to what you might believe, I don't get my kink from dead bodies." Spike smirked. "I suppose I could give over my professional opinion. That is what you want, correct? I could analyze his killing style... The way he cuts into their flesh."

"If it will sooner or later lead to you giving me a reasonable objective this guy might have, then that's fine." Xander admitted. He tried to make himself comfortable in the chair, ignoring the banging from one of the cells a few feet down. Surrounded by madmen, Xander could easily say that Spike was one of the few he didn't mind being near. The others made him feel even more uncomfortable. Which was odd, considering they -- unlike the man currently leering at him -- didn't have a Xander Harris obsession.

"That shrink of yours is an idiot, Harris." Spike announced, leaning his shoulder against the glass as he talked. "Our boy Angelus is not one of them church goers. He doesn't use the angelic symbol because he has some idiotic vendetta. That's just too simple. But you never believed that to begin with did you?"

"Not really." Xander shrugged.

"Good boy." Spike pushed himself away from the wall, turning to look directly as Xander. "Do you remember my third kill?"

"Sister Drusilla." Xander replied, fighting down a shiver. "It took an hour to get her off of the wall."

"She was a sweet thing, wasn't she?" Spike bragged. "A perfect child of Christ, except for the darkness I saw in her soul. She was beautiful, a dark princess. And yet, I didn't kill her because I hated the church. I never went to church as a child. Do you know why I went after her?"

"I always assumed she tempted you by being alive." Xander replied. "She represented what you couldn't have, or maybe didn't want."

"Got it in one, pet. Do you really need me at all?" Spike smirked. "If that came so easily to you, then why are you having trouble with Angelus, hmm? I would think it would be obvious what he wants... What he doesn't have."

"What do you--?" Xander started.

"Mr. Hurley." Spike interrupted. "Was he a good father? Or did he beat his little girl? Maybe he touched her, while she fought down tears at night? What do you think? Sexual abuse is so... Primitive. A man’s greatest sin is to soil that of his own flesh. Soiling someone else's flesh, however..." 

Spike stepped forward, pressing both hands flat against the glass wall. His clear blue eyes seemed to darken as he ran them down Xander's body. Xander shifted in his seat and tried to concentrate on what Spike was telling him. 

"What I wouldn't give to have you flat on your back, naked." Spike said, softly. Xander ignored him.

Mr. Hurley had been a good father. He was a member of the PTA and one of those fathers that showed up to every basketball game. Nothing, as it were, like Xander's own father. Frowning, Xander took a moment to question that sudden thought. Why did thinking about Mr. Hurley's good character make Xander think of his own history with his father? And what about Ms. Colby? Her records showed that she had been the near definition of a soccer mom; only instead of soccer her son had been the ultimate school nerd. She was a member of the PTA, as well.

"That's it, love. You're getting it, aren't you?" Spike hissed, his voice causing an electrical charge to shoot down Xander's spine. Xander opened his eyes and met Spike's. "I don't think you need my help at all. You just needed to be away from all of the goodie-goods at that job of yours. Needed to be near something that brought the spark back, isn't that right?"

"Maybe." Xander blinked. "His victims were good families, single parents with one child."

"I grew up without a father." Spike suddenly announced. He slid down into a crouch, hands still pressed against the glass. "My mum was wonderful, best woman there was."

"And yet you targeted women, as well as men." Xander said. Spike, he believed, never had a motive. He was one of the few serial killers that Xander knew of that didn't focus on a certain type, whether it be perfect families or the ultimate beauty that would always turn them down. "Then again, you just killed to be killing."

"Something like that." Spike smirked. "The joy isn't in the deaths, whelp, it's in the hunt."

"Or the selection." Xander added. Spike gave him a slow nod.

"I bet they called him an angel when he was little." Spike murmured, his eyes drifted half-closed. "He's a beauty, this Angelus. Angel of Death, swooping in on the least deserving. It has an odd sense of... Charisma to it."

"Insanity, charisma... It's all the same in this world." Xander stated. Spike broke into a wide grin at this, his eyes lighting up. "What?"

"Someone's getting bitter." Spike said, cheerfully. Xander managed to not roll his eyes this time and stood, picking up his briefcase and distributing the file inside. "Leaving so soon?"

"Some of us have jobs." Xander replied as the click of the briefcase echoed in the hallway. "Perhaps I'll see you again sometime, Spike. I don't think I'll be needing your services anymore."

That said, Xander turned and began walking away. He could hear Spike muttering behind him, but didn't focus on deciphering the words. His mind was stuck on what he had just learned. It amazed him how smart Spike really was. He wasn't just a sociopath; he was an honest to God intellect. Shaking his head, Xander pushed his way through the front doors of the building, stepping out into the morning sun. He made it halfway to his car before something caused the back of his neck to rise.

The parking lot was empty, except for row after row of cars. Eyes darting around, Xander couldn't make out any suspicious shadows. Skin still crawling, Xander carefully unlocked his car door. He would have missed it if he hadn't looked up before getting inside. To the right a bright flash came from the window of a small, black car. Xander immediately recognized the flash of a camera. Scowling, Xander said nothing and climbed into his car. By the time he glanced over for a second look, the car was gone.

Shaking his head, Xander reached to start the car, only to jerk in shock as his cell phone ring. Opening his briefcase, Xander pulled out the small phone and answered.

"Uh, boss?" Faith's voice sounded worried and almost scared.

"What's wrong?" Xander immediately asked, turning the keys and listening as the car engine roared to life. 

"We have a situation in the Valley." Faith informed him. "It looks like Angelus struck last night, possibly early this morning."

"Shit." Xander took a deep breath. "You're closer, so I want you to get over there and start pulling people out of that damn house. We don't need a hundred footprints tainting the scene. Call Oz to get over there as soon as possible."

"S-Sir? I'm not sure they'll listen to me--" Faith admitted, though her voice indicated how much the fact pissed her off.

"They'll listen, just use that assertive voice that you use on the broken copier." Xander said. "I'll be there as soon as possible. No one enters or leaves the property without signing in and out, got it? No items are to be taken, either."

"Right, got it." Faith said, before giving him the address and saying goodbye.

Xander quickly hung up, pulling the car out of the parking lot and nearly speeding toward the expressway. A nervous tension hit his spine and neck as he pulled into the correct neighborhood. He had yet to be at an Angelus crime scene right after the actual murders since being placed on the case. Agent Summers had been thorough in her reports, but nothing was like seeing it for his own eyes. The fresh blood, the bodies that had died barely hours before, and the knowledge that if he touched or moved the wrong thing his crime scene could be destroyed in an instant.

His car door slammed shut as he jumped out of the vehicle. He could see Faith on the sidewalk leading to the house arguing with what looked to be someone from the local precinct. Xander sighed. It wasn't that he hated cops, but the fact remained that both sides had a tendency to get a little possessive over evidence. 

"What do we have?" Xander asked as he approached.

"I managed to get everyone out of the house, but bozo here insists on having a fucking football team inspect the yard." Faith snapped, her frustration showing in her eyes.

"Look, officer--?"

"Detective Riley Finn." The man literally growled. Xander raised an eyebrow. "I don't appreciate some intern coming in and telling--"

"I understand, sir, but the fact is that this falls under the FBI, not the local police department." Xander informed him. "Now, I'm very welcome to receive any help you can provide, but I will not have you taking over and destroying the scene before we get a chance to look at it."

"I'm perfectly aware of the what rights each of us have." Riley replied. 

"Good, now get those men off of the yard." Xander snapped. He turned to Faith. "Did you call Oz?"

"Yes, he's on his way." Faith nodded.

"Okay, I want you and only you to search the yard, understand?" Xander ordered. Faith nodded. "Ask the fine detective if you can borrow a pair of gloves and a flashlight. I want you to search for any sign of a pet, in grid formation. He always kills them first."

"Sir, there's more." Faith told him. "It seems one of the neighbors heard something. Now, she says she didn't see anyone, but I thought you might like to know. Finn's men are talking to her now."

"Okay, thanks." Xander watched her leave, before glancing over at Riley. "I want a copy of the police report as well as a transcript of that interview in my office by nine tonight."

"Fine."

Xander watched Riley stalk off, before rubbing at his temples. He looked up at the house. It was a two story, just like the other two, with a colonial style. There were tulips planted underneath the large front window. They looked like bright bulbs of light as the morning sun hit their yellow and red petals. Xander slowly turned and walked back to his car. He pulled off his jacket, leaving on his gun and holster, before reaching inside for a small flashlight and a pair of gloves. Straightening up, he turned to find Oz standing next to him, high-tech camera in hand.

"I thought he was suppose to be one of those monthly characters." Oz commented, following Xander up the walkway.

"Apparently he's having too much fun." Xander replied. "He probably got tired of waiting."

The living room was dressed in light green and mauve. A large sofa rested against the far wall in front of an oak wood coffee table. Xander's eyes skimmed the room, searching for anything that seemed out of place. It looked like a normal room. A baseball bat leaned against the corner, it's matching glove on the floor next to it. Along another wall was the television, with baseball trophies on top of the entertainment center.

Xander waited until Oz had taken enough pictures, before moving into the kitchen. The kitchen table, made from the same oak wood, was small: large enough for two and a guest. Xander slipped on his gloves and opened the refrigerator. They had a half-gallon of milk left; it was two percent. Gently shutting it, Xander moved to the patio door, which was at the back of the room. Oz followed and immediately began snapping pictures.

In-between the flashes of light, Xander saw that there was no screen door. He didn't think Angelus had removed it, most likely it had fallen apart and the family had never bothered to replace it. The door had been first picked open, probably with your standard accessories. The chain had been on, but was cut with a set of cutters strong enough to cut through metal. Through the half-open door he could see Faith diligently inspecting each square inch of the backyard. He pushed the door open a bit farther and called through.

"Faith!" Her head jerked up in response. "When you're done with that, I want you to get a screwdriver and take both ends of this chain off, got it? Put it in a sterilized bag. I want to know what kind of cutters did this."

"Will do!" Faith gave him a slight wave, before returning to her inspection.

Xander took a step back, giving Oz the room to photograph the door and back patio. He turned and moved toward the hallway and stairs. He could picture, in his mind, Angelus walking the same steps. The stairs weren't carpeted and, instead, were made of oak as well. Without touching the banister, Xander began climbing the steps. Behind him, he heard Oz follow. Taking a deep breath, the tang of blood hitting his nostrils, Xander stepped onto the landing and entered what he could only call a nightmare.


	5. Chapter 5

The second floor landing was quiet, filled with the sort of tension that remained after someone had struggled to live. Xander had seen many dead bodies, from anatomy and physical anthropology classes in school to his employment with the FBI. Death didn't scare him; it was when he saw how the death occurred that terror began to take hold.

The flashes of light from Oz's camera caused him to pause, adjusting to the darker floor. The walls were lined with family portraits, except a smear of blood two feet from the ground. It was near the doorway that led to the second bedroom. Making sure his gloves were on securely, Xander stepped into the smaller room and flipped the light switch on. The room was decked out in blues and reds. A large poster of NASCAR's number twenty-four was posed above the bed.

Eyes darting around the room, Xander allowed his mind to absorb the racecar obsession the occupant had. Stepping forward, Xander gently pushed the comforter and sheet away from one side of the bed. There was a drop of blood on the pillow, as well as on the floor at Xander's feet. Xander took a step back as Oz entered the room.

"The bed, as well as underneath it." Xander said, before turning around and heading back to the hall.

He followed the steps that he knew Angelus had made, imagining the boy the killer had struggled with. The streak of blood on the wall indicated the boy had tried to grab a hold of the doorway. Angelus was obviously stronger.

He moved past the door leading to the hall bathroom, where Xander glanced inside briefly, before stepping into the master bedroom. Immediately, he forced his eyes shut. The dark, dried color of blood burned inside his eyelids. Taking a deep breath, Xander allowed the scent of copper to attack his nose. Behind him, Oz made a soft noise of shock, but remained silent.

When Xander reopened his eyes, the sight before him had not changed. The room seemed to be coated in blood, though it was only along the wall and bed. The telltale symbol of bright angelic wings spread out along the wall above the queen size bed. Angelus had removed pictures from the wall before beginning his masterpiece. Xander stepped further into the room, noticing that there were bloodstains in the corner of the room, just as before. As usual, Angelus had propped the child up in the corner.

"Where do you want me to start?" Oz asked.

"That end." Xander said, gesturing at the corner that the boy had died. He turned toward the opposite side of the room, where the closet door stood open. Inside he found five business suits hanging from one side of the closet. Next to them were a few sets of jeans, plain shirts, and quite a few things with NASCAR memorabilia. Xander could picture the father and son attending races, their voices going hoarse as they cheered for their favorite drivers.

The father seemed to like number nineteen. Xander wondered if the two teased one another over their horrible taste in drivers, laughing as each boasted over the greatness of their own. The room, and closet, had a sports fanatic feel to it as well as a family touch. The father was good to his son, Xander could tell merely by standing there.

Reaching up with a gloved hand, Xander inspected the items on the top shelf. There were no books or signs of high school items. Xander frowned and turned to look at the room. His eyes immediately hit the dresser, which stood across from the bed. On top was a watch with a black leather band, a picture of the son during a hockey game, and few notes with phone numbers. Xander picked up the small pieces of paper up, checking to see if he recognized the area code, before sliding them into a plastic bag. 

Behind him, Oz made a sound of shock. Xander ignored him and bent down to his knees in order to pry open the bottom drawer. When he was in college, Xander had never bothered to buy a bookshelf. Books were for geeks, or so his father had told him. So, he had stacked all of his reading material into the last drawer of his dresser. It made for a good shelf, though it usually got him strange looks.

Just as he had suspected the drawer was ridiculously heavy. Inside he found quite a few hardback books, a Bible, and a large binder. He reached inside and pulled the binder free. Bracing it against the opened drawer, he carefully looked inside. It was a photo album, with images of a young woman and the currently deceased man. Portraits of the son, from the age of an infant to barely a few months ago, filled its pages. Xander kept turning until he found what he wanted. What looked like a page from a yearbook took up an entire sheet within the album, as though a devious young teenager had torn it from its original source.

Xander briefly imagined Angelus' latest kill, his personality becoming more and more clear. He was playful, with a naughty streak. He had broken rules when he was younger. 

According to the page, the head of Michael Randolph had been cut out. Xander stared at the white spot, hoping it would give him some sign as to what he should now be looking for. Shaking his head, Xander pulled out a large bag from one of his pockets and deposited the photo album inside.

"Xander." Oz called over as Xander pushed the bottom drawer closed.

"Yes?" Xander placed the wrapped album on top of the dresser before walking over to Oz's position. The blood painted wings rose above him like some grotesque symbol out of a medieval painting. Oz was staring a one of the wings, which had been made with extra care.

"There's a hair." Oz said, softly. It was as though he were afraid that, by talking, his statement wouldn’t be true. Xander pushed down the hope rising in his chest and took a closer look. Just as Oz had claimed, a single dark-brown hair was stuck to the wall. It could have been human or simply the hair of the brush, but Xander would be happy with either.

"We need tweezers." Xander announced, before turning on his heal and leaving the room. Oz remained in the bedroom, where blood coated the bed sheet and corner of the room. Xander took a deep breath, thankful that he could no longer smell the copper of blood, before rushing downstairs and to his car to get the tool needed to extract the hair without damaging the dried blood.

Less than two hours later, Xander Harris found himself stepping into a small room with Faith at his side. The place was sterile, was a steel table in the middle and pure white cabinets along one wall. Xander stared at the white sheet covering the table, taking in the large lumps that created the outline of Mr. Randolph. Faith shifted from foot to foot.

"I sent that specimen to Hair and Fiber." Faith informed him, more for something to say than anything. He had already known what she did with the hair, but he had been nervous his first time inspecting a body so he didn't say anything. "Latent Fingerprints should be contacting us soon on the album."

"It's okay, I know." Xander sent her a slight smile. Faith scowled. He knew she hated being weak and the fear evident in her eyes was probably pissing her off.

"Are we ready?" A young man asked as he entered the room. Short blonde hair highlighted in the fluorescent lighting as Andrew Wells bounced over to one of the cabinets to pull out a few sets of gloves and a small jar. Andrew, as far as Xander was concerned, loved his job a little too much.

The jar was passed around as each of them smeared the substance on their noses to keep the smell of the corpse and chemicals from affecting them. White latex gloves were slipped on before Andrew walked over and pulled the white sheet back, revealing the graying body of Mr. Randolph. Xander managed to not advert his eyes and noticed that Faith had to turn away to control her breathing.

"Time of death was around two in the morning." Andrew informed Xander as he stepped forward. A large wound had begun to turn purple along the edges. Xander leaned a little closer, taking in the precise nature of the cut. "I'd suspect he used a specialty knife, probably one of those hunting ones. Do you see the end, where he pulled the knife out? It's a little ragged, so the knife didn't have a smooth blade."

"Right." Xander nodded. His mind stored this away as he continued to inspect the body. "Did you clean him?"

"Huh?" Andrew looked up from his clipboard, a small frown playing at his lips. "There really wasn't any need. Barely any traces of blood, except for what he bled long after his death, which wasn't much."

"Was it the wounds or the blood loss that killed him?" Xander asked.

"Well, the last two parents I was brought had died in different ways. Ms. Colby was blood loss; the last guy was a heart attack due to the extreme stress and fear of the moment... This guy? Well, he had severe internal bleeding, which I suspect led to heart failure." Andrew replied. "Of course the other morgue guys want to run more tests. Honestly, I feel like Han Solo around here--"

"Trust me, you are no Han Solo." Xander interrupted.

"Xander?" Faith cut in before Andrew could reply. Faith looked up from where she had been inspecting Mr. Randolph's feet. "I think you should look at this."

Xander ignored Andrew's confused questioning and moved toward her. She gently pried the large toe on the left foot away from the others. On the inside of his toes was a small cut mark. Xander shared a look with Faith, before leaning down with narrowed eyes. "Andrew? What made this?"

"That could be anything. Jonathon put down here that it was a blister." Andrew informed him.

"That's not a blister." Xander shook his head. "This was intentional."

"Is it an X?" Faith asked.

"I don't think so." Xander started to frown. "Faith, get pictures of this and blow them up. Andrew? I want you to get me the records on the last victims, specifically the feet and hands. We must have missed something in them. Fuck, I can't believe this." Xander scowled. "Why didn't we see it sooner?"

"Maybe he only did it to this guy?" Faith suggested as she pulled the camera from its case.

"Time to bring in little Jacob?" Andrew asked, eyes darting between them. Xander paused, before nodding. Yes, it was time to see the son's body.

 

Xander stared at the large photograph propped against his wall. He was waiting for a phone call from Hair and Fiber. The photo album had been without fingerprints, but Xander was hoping he could have some luck with the strand of hair found on the wall. Before him was the image of the small cut found on the inside of Mr. Randolph's large toe. Next to it was an identical wound on the back of the boy's heal, which had been mistaken as a blister.

On the desk were the two autopsy reports on the Colby and Hurley families. Similar wounds had been found on them, classified in each report as minor abrasions and blisters from sports. Xander knew it was a long shot to claim they were all related, but he was willing to accept it for the time being. Whatever it took to get Xander closer to each victim, well, it simply brought him closer to Angelus.

Xander took a step closer to the picture. It really did look like an X, as Faith had assumed. But it was ragged and the inflammation the wound had caused made it difficult to tell. Two jagged lines, crossed over one another... It almost looked like a--

"Xander?" A voice cut into his train of thought, sending whatever revelation he had been about to make out the window. Giles stood at the doorway, holding a plain manila envelope and a rolled up newspaper before him. "Hair and Fiber spent most of the day searching it down, but they were able to identify the sample."

"And?" Xander asked, accepting the envelope. He emptied the contents out, revealing a few printouts of paintbrushes and their brands. "I've never heard of this brand before."

"Exclusive company." Giles summarized. "It actually only sells its products to university art departments and private art schools."

"You're kidding." Xander felt a bubble of hope rising, but ignored it. The thought was too good to be true. Giles gave him a tired smile. "You're not joking."

"We've already sent a notice out to all colleges in California and should have a student list plus majors within the hour." Giles informed him. "Do you think we need to do anything else?"

"Hey, you're the boss here." Xander chuckled nervously.

"But it is your case."

"Yeah, okay..." Xander glanced back at the photos on the wall. "Angel wings."

"Pardon?" Giles asked, looking up from where he had been staring at the newspaper cover. Xander managed to keep a hold on his curiosity.

"His symbol. We need to find a student whose art centered around angels... Or possibly had wings in them, maybe even birds." Xander frowned at the photo, taking a slight step toward it. Shaking his head, he turned back to Giles. "What's with the newspaper?"

"You're not going to be happy about this." Giles admitted, hesitating before handing the paper over. It fell open in his hands, revealing the paper's title. Xander rolled his eyes. A tabloid, the worst source for information in the world. "Second column."

Xander's eyes slide down until his own name seemed to leap out at him. An image of himself walking out the very building he had visited that morning stared up at him, which explained the flash of light he had seen. The article, written by a Cordelia Chase, went on to explain his illicit affair with the very madman that he had imprisoned. Xander groaned, throwing the paper onto his desk. "Where do they get this crap?"

"One can only imagine." Giles shrugged. "I wouldn't take it too seriously, Xander."

"Right." Xander rubbed at the side of his face. "Let's just hope Bradshaw doesn't get a copy of this. I can only imagine what sort of reaction he would have."

"I would suspect that he would find it rather amusing, actually." Giles didn't look very amused himself about this prospect. Xander sighed and turned back to the images lining his wall. "You don't plan on visiting him again, do you?"

"No." Xander replied, his eyes narrowing. He titled his head in concentration. "I don't plan on ever seeing William Bradshaw again, I promise you... My God."

"What?"

"It's a cross." Xander stated. "I've seen this before. It's a signature, not a symbol."

"You think he's some religious freak, then?" Giles asked, uncharacteristically coarse in his language. Xander wondered, briefly, if he was sleeping properly.

"No..." Xander shook his head. "Narrow your search even further. We're looking for someone with the either a first or last name that starts with an L." Giles sent him a blank look, peering over the top of his glasses and reminded Xander of one of his old teachers in college. "What can a cross be? Either it's religious, an X, or two L's connected at the corners. He's not the religious type, trust me, and both of the markings are perfectly vertical, not angles like an X would be. It's an L. His name starts with an L."


	6. Chapter 6

Spike was thankful that the mask wasn't cutting into his face, like the old model had. Unlike before, he could actually speak without Dr. Willow Rosenburg straining to understand him. Not that he spoke, but the fact that he could was a good piece of information to have. One wouldn't want to make a fool out of oneself.

Spike didn't really enjoy being pinned to a piece of wood on wheels since it was rather degrading. He stood there, one hand clenched slightly, as Willow leaned against his desk and sighed in the sort of tone that suggested he had just spilt grape juice on the carpet. He hated it when she did that. It made him was to apologize... Or cut out her liver, either one. Clear blue eyes traveled down her form, resting on the newspaper that was rolled up in one hand. Spike smirked.

"I'm very disappointed in you, William." She informed him, green eyes held wide open. Her bright red hair was pulled back into a bun. "We have given you postal and telephone privileges. You have been very well behaved up until this point."

Spike wondered if he was going to get spanked with the paper. He fought down the urge to bark.

"This, however, has made me regret my decision." Willow unrolled the paper, revealing the front cover of a tabloid magazine: William the Bloody Declares His Love. Spike stared at the small picture of himself, which had been placed next to a picture taken of Xander Harris. Xander was smiling, which proved that the image had been taken without him realizing it. Spike wanted to tear that picture out and pin it to his wall. "I must admit it was clever, you're little letter to Ms. Chase concerning your love affair with Mr. Harris, but I will not accept such behavior in my institution."

Spike merely stared at her, watching as she tapped on finger against his desk in annoyance. Maybe he wouldn't cut out her liver after all; maybe he would just play with that single digit of flesh and bone. It tapped again.

"I have been thinking of something for the past couple of months, Mr. Bradshaw, and I'm officially under the impression that perhaps this is not the best place for you." Willow crossed her arms and stared at him. Spike blinked. "While I understand Mr. Harris' need to visit you, I don't think receiving visitations is appropriate right now. I'm placing a request to have you moved to the quiet ward."

Spike didn't react, visually, but inside he was seething. The ward of silence, where your cell had only one window and you could scream as loud as you wanted without anyone hearing you. It was the type of room they displayed in movies. Only special cases were placed there, the ones that attacked a security guard or spit on their therapist.

"I believe that is all for today." Willow nodded toward the security guards, who stepped forward. As she began to leave, Spike straps were undone. A gun was trained on his shoulder, trigger simply waiting for an excuse to be pulled.

Spike's blue eyes darted quickly around the room, before he suddenly began to jerk and convulse. His body slid down the erect board that he had been strapped to as the guard fought to keep a hold on him. A gurgling sound escaped his throat as his legs gave out on him. Willow made a sound of shock and rushed forward, yelling something about keeping Spike from swallowing his tongue. The guard lowered his arm, the gun dropping until it pointed at the floor.

Inwardly, Spike smiled.

 

"I don't want to sound like a broken record here, but this doesn't seem to be helping us any." Faith pointed out from her perch across Xander's desk. She had her feet, enclosed in a pair of combat boots, resting on the edge of the desk. Xander stared at a bit of dirt that had fell from her shoe, before sighing.

"Tedious, yes, but necessary." Xander turned another page in the thick list he held. Faith fingered the edge of her own list as her eyes skimmed through it. "We don't know who he is, yet. We know his name starts with an L, he focuses on painting, and he's studied up on anatomy. He also uses the same brushes he received as a student, which means that he's probably around my age. It's enough to go by, we can eliminate at least three-fourths of this list from that alone."

"What happened to using computers?" Faith asked. "Isn't this the age of technology?"

"Computers aren't always right." Xander pointed out. Faith scowled. He had this conversation once before with Buffy before she had left on materinity leave. She seemed to think it was ridiculous that he was the only other agent aside from Giles who didn't have a computer in his office. Xander didn't mind anyone else using a computer to analyze data, but Xander felt the best part of being a member of the FBI was getting down and dirty with his evidence.

"None of these guys studied anatomy. We've got landscape artists and sculptors, an actor or two." Faith tossed her stack onto the desk. "This is pointless."

"I don't think so." Xander muttered, his eyes narrowed in on a name from his list. Faith frowned. "Sometimes it's the difference between finding the guy and not."

"You have something?" Faith asked.

"Yeah, I think I do." Xander set his list down and reached for the phone.

"Well? Aren't you going to tell me?" Faith demanded. 

"Hello, my name Agent Harris and I was hoping I could speak to you about a former student of yours, from the year 2002." Xander spoke into the phone, raising a finger for Faith to be quiet. Faith rolled her eyes and pulled her feet down from the desk. They hit the commercial tiled floor with a thump. "I really don't want to do this over the phone, ma'am. Is there a good time we could meet?"

Faith watched as Xander grabbed a Post-It and scribbled down a location. Tilting her head, she read it quickly. "University of California, Art Department... Xan--"

"Grab your coat." Xander cut in, setting down the phone. "Call Oz and have him on standby, in case we need him."

"Wait, you're really rushing this." Faith protested chasing him out the office and snagging her jean jacket from its location on her desk. "What do you think you've found?"

"You'll see." Xander shot her a slight grin.

The drive over to the university was silent, broken only when Faith called Oz via her cell phone. The highway was oddly empty, something that Xander had never seen in Los Angeles before. He tried to take it as a sign. Across from him, Faith kept shooting him nervous looks. Unable to take the uneasiness, he turned the radio on.

"Why won't you tell me what you've found?" Faith asked, finally, after they pulled into the parking lot. 

"Honestly? Because it might turn out to be nothing, that's why." Xander admitted, holding open the door for Faith to step through. They made their way down the corridor, the scent of turpentine and paint emitting from one of the classrooms. "Don't let too much go, unless you're certain. It's hard to reign it back in once everything's out fo the bag."

"I take it you learned this from experience?" Faith questioned.

"Maybe." Xander shrugged. He came to a stop before a plain wood door. There was no name on the front, only the room number F-131. Xander glanced at the numbers briefly, before knocking on the door. IT opened to reveal a curvy blonde with a pencil stuck behind one ear. She was dressed in a flowing skirt that swished as she stepped back to let them in, an inviting smile on her lips. "Ms. Maclay, thank you for seeing us at such a short notice."

"Please, call me Tara." The woman replied, walking over to a desk overflowing with sketches and sketchbooks. She shuffled through a few things, before pulling out a battered black grading book. "Ah, here it is. I had thought I lost it between you calling and now. You did say the 2002 school year, correct?"

"Yes." Xander replied.

"And the student?" Tara asked, flipping through the book.

"Liam O'Connor." Xander informed her. Tara paused, her eyes focused momentarily on the book, before she glanced up.

"Pardon?"

"Liam--"

"No, no, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Tara turned a couple of more pages and moved the book for Xander to see. "There is his attendance record. He came everyday, from what I recall. What exactly do you need to know?"

"Everything." Xander replied. Tara's eyes narrowed.

"I think, before I tell and show everything, that I'll need to see some identification." Tara raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, right." Xander sent her a sheepish grin, before pulling out his FBI badge. Faith did the same.

"Okay, then." Tara pulled the pencil out from behind her ear, tossed it onto the table, and walked toward an open door in the back of the room. 

"Is it true he was kicked out of your class?" Xander asked, watching her.

"Yes. He got a little... Aggressive towards the end, I had to place a request in with the dean to have him removed." Tara replied. She stepped into the small storage room, her voice echoing out. "He didn't have much money, from what I could recall. He purchased the school's art supplies through a discount he received. Often times if a student is really hard up, they'll get special grants and such."

"What was he like? Personality, art style..." Xander trailed off as Tara reappeared from the closet with a large portfolio.

"He left everything." Tara explained, lifting the portfolio up with a grunt and placing it onto a classroom table. "He was a good student in the beginning, very hard working and determined. He submitted an art piece to a local gallery in the fall of his third year. They turned him down. Apparently, the images portrayed were too ghastly."

"Ghastly?" Xander asked. Tara looked to be debating something, her fingers playing with the zipper on the portfolio.

"I don't normally regulate my students' artwork." Tara stated. "I honestly don't see much of a point. Most students paint your average things, but Liam..." Tara slowly unzipped the portfolio. "I think it's best if you see for yourself."

The front cover of the portfolio was lifted away, revealing the first of a thick stack of paintings. Bright reds jumped out from the image as a pair of black wings spread across the picture. Xander winced as an angel with shining red eyes ripped open the stomach of a young man. As his eyes landed on the black signature of the artist--two L's touching at the corners--Xander spoke. "Faith, call Oz."

"On it." Faith pulled out her cell phone, thankful for an excuse to step away from the painting.

"Why did you keep these?" Xander asked, lifting one picture to look at what was underneath. Another angelic creature with silky black wings stared up at him.

"It's not very often one of my students leaves their artwork behind." Tara replied. "I'm the type of teacher that remembers every one of my students' names, so when I find a stray piece of artwork that belongs to them I keep it as a memory. Liam was a very troubled young man. I didn't know what to do with him or how to react to him most of the time. He started art classes the same year I began teaching."

"You said he got aggressive? What did you mean?" Xander pulled over a seat and watched as she moved two of the paintings to reveal a third. This one showed a demonic creature with ivory wings attacking the black-winged angel. Blood was splattered throughout the image. 

"He was quiet in the beginning. His artwork was... simple and rather plain." Tara explained. "Slowly he began to express himself more. I think it was because he was more comfortable around me. His artwork began to depict themes of violence and gore. He didn't bother to hide his enjoyment behind what he painted. When the gallery turned him down, he blamed me for not teaching him properly. After he threatened me, I had no choice but to ask that he leaved."

"Do you think he was always like that and he just didn't show it until then?" Xander wondered.

"No one develops that sort of anger toward the world sporadically." Tara shook her head. "No, Liam had been like that long before it began to show. I don't think he had a very happy childhood, if I must be honest."

"No, they usually don't." Xander said, softly.


	7. Chapter 7

Xander gently placed the telephone back onto its cradle. A dull pain echoed from behind his eyes. He had been up for over twenty-four hours, but he knew it would be worth it in the end. He had just gotten off of the telephone with every police jurisdiction in the Los Angeles area, giving them the name of Liam O'Connor. Xander was determined to have the man by the next evening.

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. A name was well and good, but it wasn’t always enough. A person could change their name; create an entire different identification in a matter of minutes. Xander had to do more. Reaching over, he pressed the intercom located next to the phone.

“Faith?”

“Yes, sir?” Faith’s voice replied. In the background he could hear typing. He had given her the assignment of searching the Internet for online art sales and records that could lead them in the correct direction. 

“I need the yellow pages of the greater Los Angeles area, as well as all of the nearby cities.” Xander ordered.

“I take it you’re looking for art galleries?” Faith asked.

“Got it in one.” Xander smiled. He couldn’t help but feel vaguely proud of Faith. He had been given the job to train her barely a year ago, mostly because he seemed to work best with the female officers instead of the men. Agent Buffy Summers was a perfect example of this. The two agents had often worked side by side. As for Faith, Xander couldn’t help but feel pride over how well she was dealing with the recent events.

“Alright, I’ll have that to you in a second.” Faith replied.

Xander reached into his desk, pulling out a large legal pad for note taking. He rubbed at his temples, the headache growing in size. Letting out an annoyed sigh, Xander began searching for some aspirin. He was interrupted by Faith entering the room, her arms loaded down with yellow phone books. She set them down with a thump, let out a groan of relief at no longer needing to carry them. 

“Thanks.” Xander grinned.

“Be happy we had these stashed away on this floor.” Faith said, teasingly. “Oh, and you have a phone call on line two.”

“You answered the phone and got these all in a matter of a minute?” Xander inquired, looking amused.

“What can I say? I’m the ultimate multi-tasker.” Faith smirked.

As Faith left the office, shutting the door softly behind her, Xander picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Well, well, well.” A soft female voice chuckled. “If it isn’t the big bad Agent Xander Harris. Where is my autograph book?”

“I’m afraid I don’t do autographs, Summers.” Xander replied, his grin widening. 

“Pity.” Buffy replied. “Because I’m sure Miss Cordelia Chase, greatest tabloid bitch of all time, would love to get a copy of it. Who knows, perhaps you could make first page three times in a row?”

“I see you read the latest slander.” Xander commented, fighting down annoyance. He had managed to not get sick over the latest article published in which William Bradshaw had nearly solidified the love affair rumor. 

“Between attempting to put matching socks on and not falling into tears over my weight, I managed to have the time.” Buffy said.

“Have you started waddling, yet? I heard pregnant women waddle in their last couple of months.” Xander asked.

“I’ve surpassed waddling and am now requiring roller blades in order to make it across the room.” Buffy sighed. “Anyway, I didn’t call to complain about my current pregnant state.”

“If it’s to talk about your love life, I’ll pass. I’ve gotten rather pampered with only Faith around. She doesn’t talk about who she takes home, unlike some people I know.” Xander couldn’t help but fall into this form of banter with Buffy. That was the sort of relationship they had.

“That’s because she takes home a different guy every night. I on the other hand have an amazingly devoted husband.” Buffy’s voice was practically beaming with happiness. It made Xander’s heart ache, knowing that he might never have that.

“Who’s a short geek.” Xander finished.

“Maybe a little.” Buffy agreed. “But I love Jonathon all the same. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Right, what did you want to tell me?”

“I got a call from Giles.” Buffy informed him. “I figured since I really don’t have anything to do but sit around and watch As the World Turns I could look into our boy Angelus’ history.”

“Yeah?” Xander pulled the legal pad toward him, pen poised. Buffy was known for her ability to find out information in the least likely places. It was what made her such a valuable agent to the FBI. All someone had to do was give her a name, or even a date, and she could manage to find something linked to the crime. It was because of her that the agency had snagged a cult leader who called himself the Master around three years ago. Xander was positive the Master would still be loose if it wasn’t for Buffy.

“I looked into the name Liam O’Connor.” Buffy began. “I thought, considering what you had written in your most recent notes concerning O’Connor’s questionable childhood, it would be best to start with the social services.”

“And?”

“After a little digging I came up with a good match.” Buffy told him. Her voice sounded smug, a fact that annoyed nearly everyone. When Buffy was right about something, she had a tendency to shove it in their faces. "Liam Michael O'Connor. His father was the co-owner of a grocery store. Interestingly, his father disappeared about six years ago. There's no record of death, but one day he just stopped going to work. No missing persons report was submitted."

"Sounds suspicious." Xander commented.

"Hmm, it is once you take in the fact that there was an abuse complaint filed against Mr. O'Connor by their neighbor when our Angelus was about eight." Buffy continued. "Seems you had a good hunch, a terrible childhood and the lack of respect toward his artwork when he got older... Well, I've seen psychos kill for less."

"So have I." Xander agreed. In fact, Spike had been one of those psychos. Xander could never really figure out why Spike killed people, but in the end a motive isn't what got him caught. Xander closed his eyes briefly. That wasn't something he should be thinking about. "Is there anything else? Do you have a current address?"

"Sorry, no. The last recorded address is where he lived with his father." Buffy said. "He's managed to hide himself rather well since his teen years."

"Okay, thanks." Xander sighed. "I should let you go, I have a phone book to search through."

"Always doing things the hard way, eh Xander?" Buffy teased.

"You know me." Xander grinned.

For the next fifteen minutes, Xander shifted through the phone books and searched for every art gallery that specialized in macabre and dark art. It took some calling, but it was tedious enough work to keep Xander's mind on the objective. It was better than getting caught up in his thoughts, which were easily driven out by what was happening. He didn't have time to worry about whether this was going to go differently than his capture of William Bradshaw.

It was a time like this that Xander was happy Spike was locked away, where he no doubt belonged. It had been a difficult journey with Spike to get a hold of him, and no doubt it would be with Angelus. Of course, Xander knew Spike's capture was a one of a kind event...

It was nine in the evening when Xander came home to his apartment. The day had been spent shuffling through autopsy reports. Visions of railroad spikes shoved through the skin and bone of a Carmelite nun by the name of Drusilla swam before his eyes. She had been pinned to the wall, a mockery of Jesus Christ. 

Xander drifted through the rooms, switching on every light in the process. The darkness made him nervous. He quickly changed into a pair of soft sweatpants, kicking his clothing into the corner to be dealt with later. He downed a couple of aspirin for his head and, not bothering with dinner, fell into bed.

The soft creak of shoes awakened him. Xander had been trained by the FBI to acknowledge every strange sound, since hearing a single footstep could save his life. Xander stiffened within the bed, eyes darting around. He wondered where he had put his gun. Silently, Xander lifted himself up into a sitting position. He didn't want to turn on the light. Whoever was inside his apartment couldn't see through the thick darkness any more than he could. 

Xander leaned to the side, hoping to be able to reach his bedside table and grab his gun before his intruder noticed. Suddenly, a heavy body had landed on top of him. He fought, hard, but the man above him had the advantage of not being half-asleep. Before Xander could think the whole scene through, his hands were tied to the bedpost. Xander tugged, but got nothing but the rope digging into his wrists for his trouble.

"No need to fight me, love." A soft, accented voice whispered into Xander's ear. Xander froze. He didn't recognize the voice since he had never heard William 'The Bloody' Bradshaw speak, but he had been called love before. William had sent what Buffy claimed to be a love letter to the office two weeks ago, right before the murder of Sister Drusilla.

The lamp next to Xander's bed clicked on, revealing a toned, pale man straddling his hips. Xander couldn't help but noticed, underneath the fear and anger, that this man was rather sexy. A set of bright white teeth flashed at him as William smiled.

"What do you want?" Xander asked, fighting for a calm tone.

"Been watching you, pet." William wiggled devilish eyebrows, before crawling off of him. Xander contemplated kicking him, but he didn't think it would be very productive.

He didn't know why he was going along with this. A madman, who had killed quite a few people, was tying his legs to the foot of the bed. He was nearly naked, having only worn the sweatpants. The situation didn't look promising, at all. Xander fought to relax, taking in deep and meditative breaths. He ignored William, not looking over until he felt the cold tip of metal against his side. A sharp bowie knife shined up at him. Xander gulped.

"You are something else, did you know that?" William asked, his eyes watching the blade trace white lines across Xander's skin. "I've watched you search and search for me, never giving up. I've never met someone like you before. Add in the fact that you're hot as hell and, well, I do think I'm in love."

"You've got to be kidding me." Xander muttered, before letting out a screech of pain. Gasping, he looked down to see blood spurting out of a deep cut in his abdominal. 

"Don't mock me, Harris." William hissed, eyes the color of steel.

"No." Xander managed to say. William smiled, a sight that sent a shiver of fear and--Xander couldn't believe it--arousal down his spine. Xander watched as William leaned down and licked up someone of the blood. Then, William cut Xander again. Xander let out a grunt of pain. William glanced up at him, thoughtfully.

Before Xander could protest, William slithered his way up Xander’s body and kissed him. The kiss was the complete opposite of William’s personality: soft, gentle, and sweet. Xander had to focus hard on the fact that a psychotic murderer was slipping their tongue inside his mouth. Otherwise, he might have enjoyed it.

Xander knew the scream had been what had saved them. If his neighbor hadn't heard him--and if Spike hadn't been so intrigued by the sound of him in pain, instead of gagging him to begin with--then Xander would probably be dead. He had burned the sheets, thrown away the bed, and moved before the month was up. He never would have survived living in that apartment.

"Forget it, Harris." Xander told himself, gathering the addresses for the art galleries and standing. "Focus on what's important."


	8. Chapter 8

“Xander?” The voice caught him off guard as he made his way past Faith’s desk. Faith’s tone was strained, as though she had just received a large shock.

“What is it?” Xander asked. Faith was gripping a pen tightly, the plastic fighting to not shatter under the pressure.

“I just got off the phone with Giles.” Faith informed him. “Xander… It’s Bradshaw. Something… Something’s happened.”

A cold chill fell down Xander’s spine. Something was wrong with Spike? That could be a number of things. The list was so long, Xander didn’t even want to think about. Yet, he couldn’t help but imagine what Spike might have done. Did he kill one of his guards? Xander hoped he didn’t hurt his psychiatrist. Dr. Rosenburg seemed like a sweet lady, after all.

“What?” Xander managed to say. Faith’s eyes were wide. Xander couldn’t tell if it was from fear or not, though prospects didn’t look good.

“He’s escaped.” Faith whispered. Xander stopped himself from saying anything ridiculous, like asking what the hell she meant. It was obvious; William ‘The Bloody’ Bradshaw was no longer in prison. That meant he could be anywhere by now. Spike could have gotten to the Canadian border by now, if he had the mindset to.

“How?” Xander asked. 

“There aren’t any details right now. It appears no one has died, though two guards and Dr. Willow Rosenburg were rushed to the medical ward.” Faith admitted. “Giles wanted me to warn you.”

“Warn—“ Xander cut himself off, rubbing at a temple. “Of course.”

“He might after you, sir, I don’t know why you’re so shocked.” Faith said, giving a slight shrug. Her demeanor, which was oddly calm, did nothing to show the vague sense of hysteria that threatened to appear within her gaze. Xander had to appreciate how well Faith was able to keep control of her emotions. Xander, himself, had never been good at that particular practice.

“I need to go.” Xander stated, taking a step away from her desk. “I’ll… I’ll check in regularly, okay?”

“Good.” Faith nodded. “I’ll be sure to keep the lines open for you.”

Xander sent her a nod, holding his breath as he made he way out of the building. It was frightening, and yet somewhat thrilling, to know that Spike was out in the city at that exact moment. Briefly, Xander wondered what he was doing.

 

Spike narrowed his eyes as he stepped into the small, brightly lit gas station. The cashier watched him from behind a window of glass, giving the illusion that he would be protected from a rain of bullets. Spike sneered. He doubted the glass was actually bulletproof. Bullets would penetrate such material, shattering the glass and letting it rain down like a tidal wave. A dead body cut up and littered with bullets would be what greeted the police. 

Spike wished he had a gun, just to test his theory.

There were only four rows of shelves in the gas station. One held candy, a midnight snack for fat rolls of lard. Spike imagined them making their way inside, waddling over to get more chips before returning home to their computers, Internet chat rooms, and a cat that hated them. Spike grinned, causing the cashier to take a step back.

Spike pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf, before setting it down on the counter. He asked for a pack of cigarettes.

“What kind?” The young, pimply kid asked. Spike shrugged. It didn’t matter. The smooth taste of nicotine, tarnished by all sorts of chemicals, burning it’s way down to his lungs… No, Spike didn’t much care what brand, for it all was a way to die in the end.

Behind him the doorway open, jingling softly. A man Spike’s height stepped inside, ankle length leather duster catching Spike’s eyes. Spike left his items on the counter, ignoring the cashier’s request for money. 

Money? Did it look like Spike had money? He was wearing the uniform he had been issued the day he was placed in his cell, an outfit he had come to hate. Though, now it was ripped and had bloodstains on one leg. The blood didn’t matter. He had managed not to kill anyone since his breakout, though the urge was there. He was proud and he hoped, somewhere in his blood soaked mind, that Xander would appreciate his sacrifice.

The unknown man went down swiftly. He didn’t even make a noise, though the cashier was yelling enough for both of them. Spike growled under his throat, swiftly jerking the coat off of the man’s back. A trickle of blood ran down the man’s temple and Spike fought down the urge to lick it clean.

He didn’t have time for it. He had clothing, alcohol, and cigarettes. Now he needed Xander.

 

Xander folded the piece of paper with shaky hands, the address written in black ink disappearing from view, as the yellow tinted legal paper was made smaller and smaller. He was parked on the curb of a long strip of stores. By turning his head to the left he could see the doorway of yet another art gallery. Xander didn’t want to go inside.

Xander had seen many things in his life. A person didn’t watch as members of his crew pried a man off of the floor, the blood and railroad spikes making the task difficult, without learning a thing or two about the human mind. Yet, to see artwork—a thing that Xander had always associated with self-expression and Monet—that displayed crimes far worse than William Bradshaw could create was… Xander couldn’t explain it. He didn’t want to go into another one of these places, but he had a gut feeling about this line of investigation. He knew it would pay off; he just had to keep working.

Taking in a deep breath, Xander pushed himself out of his car. His hand reached for the badge in his coat pocket. The last thing he needed was to discover his badge was in the car when he was in need of it. The art gallery stood between a Laundromat and coffee house. Xander wasn’t big of places of coffee worship. They seemed too cliché. He could almost swear that he was hearing the sound of bongos through the dank doorway as he walked past.

Xander pushed open the dark tinted door that led into The Bleeding Heart art gallery. It was nearly empty, except for a slender young man with sandy blonde hair and one of those tiny square goatees that had recently become popular. Xander avoided meeting the man’s gaze and immediately turned toward the left. A large painting, extending to about forty inches in width, stretched out before him against a gray colored wall. 

Xander was momentarily caught up in the bright clash of crimson red against pale flesh. A woman, stretched out upon a stone altar, had the blade of a sword rammed into her chest. That wasn’t what caught Xander’s attention however. Instead he saw the droplets of blood running across bare skin, the woman’s dress ripped down the front, and a large serpentine dragon slowly wrapping itself up the altar’s base. It looked as though the dragon was coming from out of the ground.

Xander jerked his head away, forcing his eyes to rest on a singular spot of gray on the plain wall next to the painting. Most of the artwork he had seen for the past hour resembled the morbid painting in front of him. Xander wasn’t the type to enjoy death, or blood, and the sight of it all around him was finally starting to get to him. He needed to get this mission over and done with, preferably yesterday.

Xander stalked along the wall, ignoring the art gallery’s worker, who peered around the corner to watch him. Flashes of gruesome scenes flashed past him, but he didn’t linger. He was there for one thing: the signature that would essentially be Angelus’ downfall. 

A flash of white caught his attention. Blinking, Xander turned toward one of the paintings. Within it’s frame a regal looking man with soft white wings sat on a throne. On the floor, at the angel’s feet, was another angel. They looked identical, except the second angel had black wings and was bleeding to death. Xander could almost see the blood making it’s way across the floor and half expected it to pill out of the frame and into reality.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A soft voice asked from behind. Xander managed to not jump and glanced at the blonde worker. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“It is… Nice.” Xander managed to say.

“I’m Penn.” The man greeted. “Welcome to my gallery.”

“Nice to meet you.” Xander shook the man’s hand, feeling a jolt of shock when Penn’s thumb lingered on his, rubbing the back of Xander’s hand lightly. Xander frowned and turned back to the painting, searching for the signature.

“The artist really does know how to use his colors well.” Penn continued. Xander stiffened when Penn took a step closer to him, but was too busy fighting a grin when he found the signature. Two L’s, joined at their corners in a semi-cross formation, stared back at him. “The shading in the wings is suburb. You can almost feel the feathers.”

“Uh, yes, I’m sure it is.” Xander turned toward Penn, noting that the gallery owner was standing disturbingly close. Xander found it hard to believe the man was flirting with him, though the thought did linger. “My name is Agent Harris, from the Los Angeles FBI.”

“…Oh.” Penn stared at the badge Xander produced, looking disappointed as well as annoyed. Penn narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I need all of your information the guy who painted this.” Xander replied, gesturing at Liam O’Connor’s painting. “Most of all, I need an address.”

Penn stared at him, as though assessing the situation, before turning on his heal and striding back toward the front desk. Xander followed, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. Now that he had gotten what he came for he felt no need to see more macabre artwork. Penn stepped up behind the desk, watching as Xander stepped around in order to face him. Then, he pulled a large black notebook from underneath and set it in front of them.

Xander remained quiet as Penn shifted through the pages. His mind automatically absorbed the information around him, an ability that was required of a criminal investigator. Penn had a tattoo around his left wrist, a snake that seemed to slither upward and disappear underneath his sleeve. 

“I don’t normally give out information.” Penn admitted. He looked up as a hand reached out to grab a post-it and pen. “But I suppose I could make an exception for you.”

Xander was once again given the impression that Penn was flirting with him. The idea was ludicrous and Xander immediately pushed it away.

“Here.” Penn slid the paper across the desk’s marble surface. “This was his last contact.”

“Thank you.” Xander allowed a smile. “I appreciate this.”

“No problem.” Penn said, smoothly.

Xander stepped out of the gallery, door swinging closed behind him. The sun beat down on the sidewalk, a traditional California day. Xander’s fingers tightened around the bright yellow paper as his other hand dug into his pocket for his cell phone.


	9. Chapter 9

Xander listened to the ring of his cell phone, pressed against his ear. The art gallery could be seen from the inside of his car, but he didn’t look in that direction. The post-it note, where Liam O’Connor’s address was written, had been attached to his dashboard. Xander glanced at it on occasion, making certain it didn’t disappear.

“Hello?” Faith’s voice answered.

“Faith, I’ve got it.” Xander didn’t sound as excited as he felt. There was a pause on the other line, then a rush of sound as Faith let out her breath. “I need you to alert Giles, we’ll need a full team. Put them on standby. I’m going to scan the building first and see if there is anyone inside. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

“Are you sure? Maybe one of us should—“ Faith started.

“No, Faith.” Xander reached forward and turned the car keys, listening as the engine roared to life. “It’ll be safer with just one person, I’ll be less likely to get caught.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, sir.” Faith said, softly. Xander smiled at the title. “But I’ll do what you say. Just… Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Hey, this is me we are talking about.” Xander replied, shifting gears.

“Exactly.” Faith muttered, before hanging up.

It always amazed Xander when he found a real residential neighborhood in Los Angeles. The city was made of smog and steel, so the sight of quaint little homes within the urban setting made him uneasy. Not that being anxious over his location changed the cold chill that hit his spine when he parked five houses away from his destination. The house was a one-story building made of red brick and plain windows. The curtains were drawn.

Xander unlocked his glove compartment, pulling out a shoulder holster and gun. He slipped it on, before putting a light coat on over it. His cell phone went in his pocket, while the badge was attached to one of the holster’s leather bands. He was ready, fully prepared to deal with whatever he came up against.

Except the nerves wracking his body. Xander took a deep breath, closing his eyes in order to calm himself.

It was close to two in the afternoon when he stepped out of the car and walked toward the house. The street was practically deserted, except for a dog a few homes down. The dog watched him, wagging its tail in greeting. Xander casually slipped between the houses, pressing his back against the shaded brick. Turning his head, Xander peeked through a crack between one of the curtains. Inside he could see a bedroom, which held an erect easel and small twin bed. The room was unkempt, stray pieces of trash littering the floor.

What was it about a sociopath never cleaning his home? 

Xander continued to slip around the building, taking a glimpse into the second side window and spotting a mold-covered bathroom. There were rust stains in the sink, making it look like blood. He made it to the back yard, where he found a large oak tree and a broken screen door. One of the windows led to the kitchen, which was also empty. 

Xander let out a quick breath, moving once again to the side of the house. Hiding in the shadows, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his office. Faith answered, her voice sounding both excited and fearful. He gave her the address, telling her to quickly contact the needed people. For a moment, he wished she were already there, helping him out. Or maybe Oz, who would be discreetly taking pictures through the window like a peeping tom.

That thought alone was enough to set him as ease and he ended his call with Faith. The cell phone flipped shut in his hand and he moved to return it to his pocket.

“Well, what have we here?” A soft, dark voice whispered. 

Xander jerked, hand dropping the phone in order to reach under his coat for his gun. He didn’t have time to see who the man was as something heavy—possibly a shoulder—slammed into his side. His head hit the brick wall, sending a shower of stars across his vision. Xander’s hand wrapped around the gun, but his grip wasn’t tight enough. A strong hand grabbed Xander’s wrist, jerking it away from his weapon and pinning it behind his back. Xander kicked backward, hearing the man grunt, before his head was once again rammed into the brick wall.

Everything within his vision seemed to spark like a firecracker, before descending into darkness.

His sense of smell was the first thing to come back to him. The room was dank, smelling of mold and something that caused Xander to gag. It took him a moment to place the scent. It was the stench of rotting flesh. Xander forced himself to breathe, knowing that he did not want to pass out once more. 

Xander could feel cold cement below him. Most likely he was in the basement, though he had not seen any basement windows when inspecting the house. The type of nylon rope you found in hardware stores bound his wrists and ankles. Xander shifted, pressing his back against the cement wall. He didn’t open his eyes just yet. 

Instead he focused on the sounds around him. There was a steady drip of water to his right. The room was otherwise silent, a fact that sent a chill down Xander’s spine. Xander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lifted his hands in front of him and checked for his gun holster. It was a fruitless search, but he had no other weapon on him and the idea of being defenseless didn’t settle too well.

A soft thump caught his attention. Xander tilted his head, still refusing to open his eyes for fear of what he might see. The sound of footsteps hitting stone echoed down toward him. Xander fought down panic and slowly opened his eyes. The room was dark, except for a single ceiling light. Xander watched as a tall, dark figured made its way down the stairs. 

The man was tall. As he entered the light Xander could see short hair that was nearly black, spiked upward. The eyes, which looked amused, were the same color of the man’s hair. He wore a long sleeve black shirt and black slacks. Xander ignored the jokes that wanted to be voiced. Now wasn’t a time to annoy his host.

“I see you’re awake.” That same soft voice that he had heard before. “Do you know who I am?”

“Liam O’Connor.” Xander replied, his voice scratchy. He didn’t see the point in playing games; there was no reason to now. 

“Ah, a detective that does actual detective work. Call me Angelus. I think it has a nice ring to it, don’t you? After all, your people came up with it.” There was a slight upturn to the man’s lips.

“What is it with you guys and changing your names?” Xander blurted out. Angelus raised an eyebrow. “It’s just so common… I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, or so they say.” Angelus smirked. “No one likes the name their father’s gave them. Now, I would like to know what you were doing snooping around my lovely home.”

“I was trimming your bushes.” Xander replied, his tone automatically sarcastic. He knew he had said the wrong thing when Angelus strode forward. Xander winced as a strong hand grabbed a hold of his jaw, jerking his face toward Angelus’.

“I would watch your tone, boy.” Angelus hissed. “We wouldn’t want the FBI’s White Knight to end up like him.”

Xander’s face was forced to look left, bringing in sight the source of the horrid smell. Up until then Xander had kept an eye on Angelus, something he was now thankful he did. About eight feet away, tied to an old rocking chair, sat a decaying corpse. It was a man, that much Xander could discern, but the slow decay of flesh and organs had already taken its toll on the body. Fluids from the man’s body had pooled underneath the chair, staining the cement floor. Xander could easily see the white of bones in certain areas, where the skin and muscle had either decomposed or been picked off. 

Xander had seen quite a few corpses in his time, but this one took the cake. Xander fought to look away, but Angelus merely tightened his hold, bringing forth bruises on Xander’s skin.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Angelus asked, gently releasing his hold on Xander’s jaw. Angelus stroked Xander’s cheek and smiled sadistically. “I’ve been watching him evaporate from existence for quite some time now. The whole process is… Wonderful. Smells worse than turpentine, though.”

“Who is he?” Xander managed to ask. The longer he kept Angelus talking the more likely he would be alive when Faith and the others arrived.

“What, didn’t you do your research?” Angelus asked with a sneer. “Imagine it, boy. What would you do with the person you hated most in the world?”

“He’s your father, then.” Xander stated. Angelus’ eyes betrayed his surprise. “Am I right?”

“Smarter than you look.” Angelus murmured. Xander watched as Angelus walked over to one of the desks lining the far wall. He rummaged around, before pulling out a large butcher knife. Even from a distance, Xander could see that the blade had a jagged edge, which would no doubt fit the autopsy reports. 

Angelus walked back toward him, balancing the knife in his hand as though it were a wizard’s wand. Xander leaned back as he approached, trying to melt into the wall. Angelus let out a chuckle, one that sent sharp spikes of fear down Xander’s spine. “I wonder how you bleed…”

Xander let out a yelp as Angelus’ arm jerked forward, sending the tip of the blade into his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Xander glared at the man above him. He could feel blood trickle from wound, soaking into his shirt and coat.

“Oh, you sound heavenly, boy.” Angelus leered. Xander tensed. Why did he always end up with the sexually deviant psychotics? Somehow Xander had a habit of attracting them, through no fault of his own. Angelus was still leering when he yanked Xander’s coat off of his shoulder in order to see the fresh wound. Xander didn’t bother to fight, for that would simply make the cut bleed more.

Angelus was leaning toward him to do something—Xander didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know—when the sound of a doorbell made him pause. Xander turned his eyes toward the ceiling, as though that would enable him to see who it was. Angelus let out a growl, before standing and walking toward the stairs. “Don’t bother screaming for help, boy. No one can hear you.”

Xander took a moment to glare at the door swung shut, then immediately turning to the ropes binding him. He tugged fruitlessly, but they wouldn’t budge. He even tried to chew them, before realizing that it wasn’t helping him escape as much as hurting his teeth. He felt useless, even to himself, at that moment. The feeling made him angry.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed from above. Another quickly followed it. Then, the basement door swung open and Angelus literally threw himself down the stairs. He had lost the knife and was now carrying a gun, which Xander immediately recognized as his own. Xander struggled as Angelus grabbed him by his collar and hauled him upward. Swinging Xander around, Angelus pressed himself against Xander’s back, gun pressed against Xander’s neck. Xander quickly stiffened and stopped struggling.

He wasn’t about to get killed with his own gun.

“Liam O’Connor, I suggest you come out with your hands up.” A stern, British voice announced from above. Xander felt Angelus tug him toward the bottom of the stairs, his bound feet dragging painfully across the floor. Once reached, he could see both Faith and Giles peering down the stairs, guns poised. 

“Now, now, why would I do that?” Angelus asked, his grip tightening around Xander. “I’m having so much fun with your little boy here.”


	10. Chapter 10

Xander fought to not panic. He had a gun pressed against his skin and a madman holding onto him from behind. He was barely ten feet away from his fellow agents. All he needed was to dislodge Angelus’ hold on him, knock the gun away, and run up those stairs. The task, which seemed so simple, was in reality daunting.

“Release your captive and come out with your hands up.” Giles’ stern voice ordered. “This will be easier on you if you cooperate.”

Xander managed to not snort. Giles was like the father figure he never had, but he understood Angelus’ motives enough to realize that the serial killer would not make things easy on them. Xander took in a deep breath in order to calm himself. He could see half of Faith’s face as she gazed out at them, gun drawn.

Xander made a slight movement with his head, catching Faith’s attention. He met her eyes and tried to relay to her that he sort of had a plan. Sort of being the key words. Faith frowned, brows drawing together, before she nodded her agreement. Xander closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, before lifting his leg and stepping down on Angelus’ foot.

Angelus let out a grunt and, before he could respond, Xander slammed his elbow back into Angelus’ stomach. The killer’s arms loosened, giving Xander the ability to swing away. His arm connected with Angelus’ hand as he dove away from Faith’s shooting range. Suddenly, two blasts echoed through the room. A sharp pain ripped through Xander’s bicep as he tumbled onto the cold cement floor.

Adrenaline shot through Xander’s body as he scrambled back onto his feet. His eyes immediately fell on the gun, laying barely three feet away from him, and Angelus, standing before him. Angelus had one hand pressed against his hip, where blood was causing the black fabric of his shirt and pants to appear darker than night itself. Angelus bared his teeth at Xander, his eyes filled with rage.

Xander dove for the gun, letting out a yelp of pain as Angelus landed on top of him. Both hands wrapped around the heated metal, but before a fight could begin Angelus stiffened above him. Xander turned his head, looking over both Angelus’ and his own shoulder to find Faith standing above them, gun pressed against the back of Angelus’ head with a finger placed calmly on the trigger.

“Xander, are you okay?” Faith asked in a soft, steady voice. “Can you remain in this position long enough for us to cuff this bastard?”

“Yeah.” Xander croaked out. The rush of energy that he had been feeling seemed to drain away from him, leaving his body limp and tired.

“Xander…” Angelus drawled. He didn’t seem to be worried about Faith snapped the metal handcuffs around his wrists. Perhaps to Angelus it was simply another walk in the park. “I’ve heard of you… You’re William the Bloody’s fuck toy!”

“Yeah, sure, that’s me.” Xander muttered. “Whatever.”

Later Xander found himself sitting on the hood of Giles’ car, shirt removed, with an emergency technician hovering over him. The knife wound was already stitched up and now Xander was watching the EMT slide a needle through his skin and seal up the space that the bullet had grazed his bicep. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he still had paper work to do and a report to give Giles. 

No doubt he would be written up for approaching the house on his own, but he didn’t think it would cause him too much trouble.

“Hey there.” Faith greeted, walking over and jumping up next to him. The black sedan bounced slightly from the impact. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy.” Xander admitted. He sent the EMT a smile as the man finished with his wound. There was a moment of silence, before Xander looked over at Faith. “Well, I’m going to miss this. We’ll probably work together someday, though. Unless they transfer you.”

“Xander, what are you talking about?” Faith asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re ready.” Xander told her, smiling. “You’re as trained as an agent can be, Faith. You’re going to do great.”

“…Really?” Faith broke into a pleased grin, which made seem younger.

“Yeah, I’m going to tell Giles tomorrow, after the paperwork is finished.” Xander replied. “I’m proud of you and, well, it’s about time you stop having to answer my phone.”

“Thank you, sir.” Faith cleared her throat and looked away to compose herself. “Oh, I came over to tell you that you’re free.”

“Pardon?”

“Giles said you could head home and get some rest.” Faith informed him. “He wants a full report by noon tomorrow, so you might want to come in early.”

 

His movements were automatic after stepping through the doorway of his apartment. First, he shut the door and locked it. His coat was tossed onto the back of the sofa and his shoes kicked off into the corner. After a jaw-cracking yawn Xander removed the tie that was hanging undone around his neck and stretched.

He made it to the kitchen and plugged the coffee pot back in. Inside the refrigerator he found a package of ham and a slice of cheese. The bread took some hunting, but Xander finally located it in the cabinet above the stove. His stomach growled at he prepared the late afternoon snack. A cup of coffee in one hand and a sandwich in another, Xander walked over to the table and sat down.

Xander was hungrier than he thought he would be and quickly swallowed his meal. His body was starting to ache and he knew that new bruises were forming underneath his clothing. He had been slammed into a brick wall, a cement floor, and stabbed by a madman. Xander felt that for once he was due this moment of laziness.

That being decided, Xander unbuttoned his shirt and stood, slipping it off as he entered his bedroom. Under normal circumstances Xander’s senses always went on high alert upon entering the room. There were too many memories, those including Spike and those not, that affected the way he viewed this most sacred of places. But he was half asleep as he flipped on the ceiling light and moved toward the bed.

“Hello, love.” A soft voice greeted.

The world ended, or so Xander thought as he took in the sight of Spike stretched out on his bed. Gulping, Xander took a step back. Spike broke into a wide grin, pushing himself up and off the bed. The grin faltered as Spike’s eyes skimmed Xander’s bare torso. Bright blue eyes narrowed at the sight of the two bandages and the dark shadow of bruises waiting to develop. 

“Who did this to you?” The words were growled. Xander couldn’t figure out how to respond, part of him was terrified beyond belief and the rest of reacting to the erotic sound of Spike being protective. Before Xander could say anything Spike had stepped toward him, slowly backing him against the wall. The heat of the other man’s body was enough to jerk Xander out of his stupor.

“How in the hell did you get in here?” Xander demanded, avoiding Spike’s gaze. His eyes settled on the leather coat strewn across the foot of the bed.

“That’s the question isn’t it?” Spike replied, wiggling his eyebrows. A gentle touch of fingers grazed across Xander’s chest, up the middle and to the side that was wounded. Spike gave the bandage a thoughtful look as he traced it. “Flesh is so tender, isn’t it? Waiting to be broken… Blood to be spilt.”

“Why me?” Xander suddenly asked. Spike blinked. “Why did you come to me? You’re fucking free, as free as you’ll ever be. You could hide yourself in another country, even in America if you tried hard enough. Why are you risking everything just to see me?”

Spike’s lips curved slightly, eyes momentarily gleaming with some fanatical emotion. Then the expression was gone, pushed under that of worry. Xander glared, causing Spike to chuckle. “No one is ever free, whelp.”

“Nice.” Xander rolled his eyes and rested his back against the wall, too tired to standing fully. He got the strong impression that Spike wasn’t going to actually hurt him. Conserving energy until he could catch Spike off guard or call for help was his best option.

“You’re tired.” Spike commented, his voice sounding forcibly detached. Xander eyed Spike curiously, suddenly amazed by the conflicting emotions on Spike’s face. Spike gently look hold of his arm and began tugging him toward the bed. “Can’t let you pass out on me, after all. What kind of fun would that be?”

“Planning on torturing me later?” Xander asked, feeling a strange calm as he lay down.

“Cat and mouse, you mean?” Spike smirked, lying down next to Xander. They formed what appeared to be a lover’s embrace. Xander managed to fight the urge to comment on the irony of the situation. “Cat’s won, pet. Got you right where I want you.”

“I guess that makes me the mouse. Typical.” Xander muttered. He could feel Spike’s hand resting against his hipbone, thumb brushing along his skin. Spike’s chin was pressed against his uninjured shoulder. Xander felt ashamed of himself. This was the man that had become infatuated with him, all the while murdering those with a crazy grin. Yet, as Spike cuddled up against him, Xander could only feel the slow boil of arousal at the base of his spine.

Of course, he was still afraid underneath it all. Xander Harris was not stupid.

“I could love you.” Spike admitted. Xander shivered as Spike’s breath hit just under his ear. “If I wasn’t so insane—because I am crazy, Harris, don’t ever forget that—I would want nothing more than to grow old with you.”

“I find that statement oddly refreshing.” Xander said. Something wet trailed across his earlobe. It was Spike’s tongue. Xander closed his eyes, causing the sensation to come in sharp and strong. “What do you want with me?”

“That’s a long list.” Spike chuckled. Xander could literally feel the vibration of Spike’s chest against his arm. Spike nuzzled Xander’s neck, his tongue darting out against the skin. Xander fought down a moan, cursing his ability to be turned on at the most inopportune times. “Bloody hell, I want to taste you.”

Suddenly Spike rolled on top of him, pressing their groins together. Before Xander could even consider protesting—he was shocked to find that he really didn’t want to complain about the touching—Spike’s lips were pressing against his own. The words echoed in his head: I shouldn’t do this; I can’t be doing this! But he ignored them easily, shocking himself by opening his mouth to Spike’s tongue. Spike growled in response, one hand burying in Xander’s hair.

“I can’t!” Xander pulled back, gasping. Spike narrowed his eyes, jerking his hips forward and causing wonderful friction in the spot Xander needed most. “Spike, please… Don’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t feel this way about you. I put you in prison, Spike! It’s because of me that you had to break out, that you have the FBI and every cop from here to Oregon keeping an eye out for you.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Spike asked, his voice soft and hinting along the lines of murderous. Xander shuddered, though from fear or attraction he couldn’t say. Everything was so muddled and strange, Xander didn’t know whether he even wanted to let Spike go. “You’re the poison running in my veins, Harris. Wanting you is killing me. Pop and squish, you’re the railroad spike penetrating my body.”

“How do you manage to make everything sound sexual?” Xander asked, breathlessly. Spike leered, before leaning down and kissing him once again.

Hands were everywhere. Flesh was slipping across his chest, avoiding his wounds with the utmost care. This was the moment, if Spike needed one, to turn on him. Xander was at his mercy; too busy trying to fight the urge to suck on Spike’s tongue to notice a weapon. Yet, Spike did nothing except push Xander’s legs farther apart.

The high ring of the doorbell made Spike stiffen above him. Baring his teeth, Spike lifted his head up and looked angrily toward the living room. Xander fought to catch his breath. He pushed Spike away, struggling to his feet and making his way toward the bedroom door. Across the living room he could see the doorknob rattle as someone banged against the hollow wood.

“Xander?” A muffled voice called.

“Shit.” Xander muttered, glancing at Spike. Spike was standing next to him, hands clenched in anger.

“Xander! Fuck…” Faith yelled, before a loud bang indicated that she had thrown herself against the door in an attempt to open it. “Please, Xander, open the door! It’s Bradshaw! Xander? He was spotted nearby over an hour ago. We didn’t know! Oh God, Xander! Open up!”

Xander couldn’t move or respond. He had to make his choice. He could easily let Spike sneak out his bedroom window, which led to the fire escape, or he could let Faith inside… Xander turned and looked at Spike. “I have to…”

“Are you going to let the big bitch catch me, then?” Spike hissed, taking a step toward him. Fear began to mix with Xander’s indecision. “You can’t, pet, don’t you get it? I belong with you! Only you.”

“No, Spike, I don’t get it.” Xander admitted. “I’ve never understood why—“

“Never had anyone care enough for me to risk their life to find me.” Spike interrupted, his eyes glazing over slightly. “You and me, whelp. We were built for one another.”

Xander stared at Spike as his mind began to clear. He was afraid of Spike, terrified of what he felt when the man was near and scared of what Spike wanted with him. He never thought that Spike would confess the true nature of his obsession. Spike loved Xander because Xander had spent months of his life focused purely on finding him, a psychotic killer. 

“Stay there.” Xander said, his voice deceptively calm. “I’ll tell her I’m okay.”

Xander knew that, under other circumstances, Spike would have been the perfect lover. Now, though, Xander couldn’t ignore the fact that Spike was a wanted criminal and Xander worked for the very government that wanted to lock Spike up for life. Spike probably wouldn’t understand the pain that Xander felt as he opened the door, but Xander would have to bear that burden on his own.

Xander never forgot the look of betrayal that crossed Spike’s face as Faith entered the room.


End file.
